#the reader drinks tea guys

[unistaryo]

Tea Break [Walter C. Dornez x F!Reader + child!Integra(Oneshot)]

🌟Happy New Year everyone!

Summary: Just when you thought that you found a moment of peace during the holiday preparation in the estate, Walter and Integra have other plans.

 Finally, some peace.

 It was hard to find a moment like this one, here on the sofa that had been empty for almost an entire day. Maybe even longer–but who knew? With Sir Arthur’s grand New Year party coming up, no one had a minute of peace in this mansion, not even his daughter.  

 Poor Integra knew too much for her age already. She was only 5, yet she understood why her father took it upon himself to teach her about her destiny, why he didn’t spend too much time with her, or why her mother wasn’t around anymore. That’s why you were hired in the first place: to be a positive maternal figure and a constant caretaker for Integra. 

 Now, when you took this job you wouldn’t have guessed you’d also become some sort of housekeeper, but that’s how it turned out. You couldn’t back out, especially since the girl had become so attached to you.

  At least you could find a moment alone to relax, even just for a few minutes. With the staff preparing everything for the gathering and Integra asleep, you could finally enjoy a cup of tea in the library. It was a quiet, hidden place that was rarely crowded on a normal day, let alone now. A place where you could recollect yourself in peace, or so you thought. But just as the warm ceramic touched your lips, a familiar voice broke the silence.

 “Seems like someone finally decided that it’s time for a break.” Walter stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as always. The butler’s sarcasm was biting, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

  You smirked, “Well, maybe try to take a moment for yourself for once. Even Integra knows this and she’s a child.” Walter frowned, clearly debating whether to argue. Instead, he sighed, the lines of fatigue deepening around his eyes. You softened, patting the seat beside you.

“Come on, a few minutes won’t hurt, won’t they? I can also pour you some tea.” The butler appeared hesitant, but he quickly complied as you started to fill a cup.

 He drank it in silence, not muttering a word, and neither did you. The periodical glances told you everything you needed to know. His eyes were more relaxed than usual, holding a softness that felt almost sacred–one that even films couldn’t capture. Then, his hand slowly went towards your head, but just as it almost reached its destination a young voice interrupted it.

 “Miss (L/N)! Walter!” Integra entered the library, brimming with excitement. She looked like she had just woke up from her afternoon nap “What are you two doing here?”

 “We are just resting,” you responded as you picked up Integra, placing her onto your lap, “we are not as young and powerful as you are anymore.” Integra chuckled at this, grabbing you and the butler’s arms.

 “Well, you should be! Dad always says that he felt younger and more powerful around mom!” with that, she made your arms touch. 

 “Now, dear, that’s wishful thinking, we already had this discussion-” 

 Walter cut you off, his hand sliding around you and Integra while the other one took yours with an ease that made your heart skip. “Maybe we were doing something young people often do before you came in,” he said with a sly wink.

 Integra gasped and almost jumped out of joy, “I knew it! You two are a couple! You were kissing!” your face burned as Walter’s fingers traced soothing circles across your back. There was no escaping this, was there? Probably not.

[ysaefinn]

This may not be everyone's cup of tea but it sure as fuck mine, matter of fact the entire pot is mine, the whole damn tea shop, i need suguru's tits in my mouth at every waking moment otherwise i will simply refuse to comply.

[ficandkaboodle]

Enemies-to-Lovers fic starring Primo. Only the enemy isn't a regular devout christian, it's just a sibling of sin who grows bombass flowers or veggies or weed better than he does. It comes to a head when they fuck furiously and passionately in the greenhouse. There is clawing and biting and insults. They still make snide remarks at one another and everybody knows they're fucking and actually like each other and are sweet on one another in private, but Primo just flat out admits that the animosity "is just a part of it."

[gojosconsort]

get freaky on camera // satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ you’re an onlyfans creator frustrated with bad partners, so you jokingly ask your best friend to help film content... and he’s game.

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x best friend!satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ content. mdni. friends-with-benefits, domestic fluff, filming, oral (f and m receiving), praise kink, creampie, shower sex, aftercare

best friend!satoru’s been your closest friend forever, with that messy white hair and blue eyes that make everyone stare. one day at his place, you complain about not finding enough good partners for your onlyfans and you joke, “maybe you should help me film some content.” you laugh, but he grins, leaning forward, “let’s do it.”

best friend!satoru’s game immediately and sets the ground rules over pizza, “we fuck for your fans, keep it professional, no strings.” you’re hesitant, “just for content, right?” he nods, “just for content.” but you both know that’s not true.

best friend!satoru who you shoot your first video with him that night, pushing your pizza away and abandoning the movie that was playing as you straddle his lap, his kisses hot down your neck. “fuck, you’re so hot—let’s give ‘em a show,” he says, filming as you ride him and fuck, he’s good, hitting every spot and you moan louder than you ever have with any other partner.

best friend!satoru who checks the video after, smirking at the views pouring in. “told you we’d kill it,” he says, replaying the part when you’d cum on his cock over and over and you’re flushed, “it’s just the angle.” he laughs, “don’t get shy now, babe. we’re hot and the fans love it.” you shove him, but he’s right—the chemistry’s insane, and the fans really love it.

best friend!satoru who suggests a blowjob video next because “fans love that shit.” he guides you down, “lick slow—fuck, yeah, like that.” and he’s so vocal, “shit, baby, you’re so good—look up at me.” and then films you taking him deep, moaning, “fuck yeah, babe.” and then cums down your throat so hard, the phone’s nearly slipping from his grasp as his orgasm ripples through him.

best friend!satoru who eats you out so good you almost forget you are filming for your only fans. his tongue’s between your legs and you’re gettin’ wetter by the second, thighs tremblin’, but he’s taking his sweet time until you pull at his hair and urge him, “fuck, satoru! make me cum already!” and he’s loving every second of it.

best friend!satoru’s softer after the shoot, surprising you with how gentle he can be. he grabs a warm towel, “you okay, superstar?” he makes you tea and tucks a blanket around you. “you’re acting like my boyfriend now,” you tease, but he smirks, “nah, just the best co-star you’ll ever have—nobody’s taking care of you like me.”

best friend!satoru who you do a content marathon with one lazy weekend. fucks you in every position—missionary, doggy, you on top, him on top, you name it. “fuck, baby—taking me so well.” he’s relentless, cumming three times but still hard, “gonna ruin you for everyone else.” you’re exhausted but don’t stop, he’s fucks you so good it’s addicting.

best friend!satoru’s basically living at your place—filming, fucking, chilling. picks your lingerie, “this’ll make ‘em drool—you’re so hot in it.” off-camera, he’s cooking you dinner, “can’t let my star go hungry.” you laugh, “you’re way too into this.” he shrugs, “damn right—you’re the hottest thing on the internet, and i’m the lucky guy making it happen.” his hands linger, and you don’t pull away.

best friend!satoru who fucks you in the shower against the tiles for a new video, water streaming, phone catching every drip, “fuck, you’re so tight,” he says, fucking you hard and cums so deep inside, kissing your cervix with every thrust. “that’s the money shot.” and films how his cum is dripping between your legs. after, he’s kissing your wet skin, “you’re too fucking good, babe.”

best friend!satoru who texts you at 3 a.m., “thinking of my favorite girl—wanna film?” shows up with your favorite sugary drink, “only the best for you, babe.” you catch him staring when you’re just chilling afterwards, eyes warm. “satoru, this is just content, right?” you ask, voice small. “sure,” he says but it doesn’t sound true, and you’re starting to crave his presence, not just his dick.

best friend!satoru’s been your only onlyfans partner for months, ever since you realized nobody else could fuck like him or make you cum so much. you used to film with others, but now it’s just satoru, and the way he looks at you—like you’re more than content—makes your heart skip.

best friend!satoru who got you pinned on his bed, clothes already off, when you realize—shit, you forgot to hit record. “satoru, the camera,” you gasp, but he’s kissing you hard, “fuck the camera—need you now.” you don’t stop him; he’s too good, cock sliding in deep, hitting spots that make you see stars. “moan for me, just me,” he says, and it’s raw, intense—better than any filmed scene.

best friend!satoru’s different after that night. he’s over at your place, not for a shoot, just to hang—ordering takeout and binging a shitty rom-com. “you’re fucking gorgeous even in sweats,” he says, tugging you onto his lap. you tease, “no camera today?” he shrugs, “don’t need it.” he kisses you soft, no rush, and you’re starting to wonder why this feels so normal.

best friend!satoru’s acting like your boyfriend now, and you’re not fighting it. he’s over all the time, not just for shoots—cooking you pancakes, you stealing his hoodie, him calling you “babe” in that low voice that makes you melt. you’re holding hands, sharing lazy kisses, and it’s couple shit—brushing teeth together, him carrying you to bed. “you’re my favorite everything,” he says, and it’s too real.

best friend!satoru who’s quieter one night, sitting on your balcony with you, city lights below. he’s holding your hand, unusual for his cocky self. “babe, i gotta say something,” he starts, eyes serious. “i don’t want you filming with anyone else—fuck, i don’t want anyone else near you. be mine, exclusive—my girlfriend.” and you’ve never been more happy in your life.

best friend!satoru’s your boyfriend now, and it shows—he’s louder, prouder. you film a new video, “my girlfriend’s the fucking hottest,” he says on camera, fucking you deep and hard. “nobody takes me like you,” he groans, loving how you feel around his cock, the way you moan and scream his name. “love you,” and he’s thrusting harder.

[leyavo]

Simon x Cat x Neighbour!reader

Part two > (previous part)

Simon Riley was a lot like his cat, dropping by your flat whenever he wanted. Thanking you for looking after Cat in small little ways.

Bringing you home little trinkets from his work travels. “Got it from some market, can’t tell you where though. Would have to kill ya and I really don’t want that.” Little things that line every inch of your windowsill, crystals he’s found because he knows you like them.

Thankfully it wasn’t a mouse, Simon hunting one down after Cat delivered one to you. And as you watched him pause, head angled to listen for the squeaks or little scurries. You couldn’t help but think he was a cat too. For a big guy, he was light on his feet and everything he did quiet.

“Dinner?” You asked, trying not to look at the mouse dangling between Simon’s finger and thumb by its tail. “Not a huge fan of rodent.”

He invites you into his flat for the first time, promising that it’s rodent free. “Woah your place is real big,” you say, opening your arms in the space as if you expected to touch wall to wall. Simon’s thinking of all the activities he could do with you, but decides dinners a good start.

Dinner turns into grabbing a morning coffee after a run and even going on evening runs, which angers him because before him you never would have done so alone. Sitting on the bench in the park to stretch or take a rest as you sip your water bottle, stickers decorating the outside.

When the pipe under your sink was dripping water for months, he fixed it and you didn’t find out till you went to check if the bucket was full of water again. No, no bucket under the sink. There was a small tool box in its place, stuff you had no idea what to do with.

Cat was drinking from the bucket under the sink, that’s how Simon discovered it. He’s even got a picture of it on his phone as well as a load of pictures you’d sent him with Cat. Sometimes he looks through them in his room back at the base. A few videos of your soft voice calling Cat.

So you sent him a picture of said toolbox and messaged him. “Did the fairies visit me?” He didn’t respond till the next day, “big bloody fairy.” promising to show you what they were for and sending you a video of basic plumbing if you wanted to learn yourself whilst you waited for his return.

Cue Simon teaching you how to fix the plumbing in your flat. The two of you squeezed into the little box of a bathroom as he listened to you explain about the low pressure of the shower and the tap on the sink you wanted to swap with something pretty.

The eroded shower hose snapping and spraying the both of you with water. Simon’s hoody drenched, sticking to every curve and dip of his muscles. Your back leant against the wall as his arm reached above you to turn the water off.

“I really wanna kiss ya,” he said, head inching closer to yours, gaze flitting to your lips. “Kiss me.”

You use his place for sex and make sure Cat is in your flat, “don’t want the kid to see,” is what Simon says.

Whenever Simon sees you’ve run out of anything, he’ll pick it up when he’s doing his weekly food shop. The coffee sachets refilled when you go to the kettle and when you ask, Simon shrugs “the fairies,” he says, sipping his cup of tea with the morning paper.

Even when you are officially dating you were still going between the two flats. Joking that cat had the studio and you could stay with Simon.

[angelfishe]

"𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍"

>> Genshin man x reader

<< characters : diluc, kaeya, ayato, alhaitham, zhongli, neuvillete, wriotsheley, childe, capitano, dottore, pantalone >>

Warnings : MDNI, contain sexual content

⚠️MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE ⚠️

DILUC, very flustered unable to form a sentence after the climax, exhausted to the point you have to serve the customer instead. he's unable to form a sentence, sweat is around his body, his clothes are a mess as well him breathing heavily as if he just went thru a marathon, some Patreon would ask what's wrong with him, and you just replied in his place saying his just tired.

KAEYA, smirking with his clothes disheveled as well as his hair as if someone has been pulling on it, jean asked him what's wrong and he said he just had the best lunch of his life with a satisfied smile and in his office paper are scattered and crinkle as if someone has been sitting on his desk. Jean doesn't question it but the knights that were guarding his office stand with a flustered look as if witnessing and hearing somethings.

AYATO, appears as in his normal self, not a single disheveled or messy hair always appears with a smile and a satisfied look, very dignified the stress on his face disappear after you went into the office bringing him tea and snacks when his working his documents, him leaving the office with a very disheveled you going inside the bedroom, and sometimes during a meeting or a party you and him would leave and go for a "walk".

ALHAITHAM, with a straight face focus on his book as if he didn't spend the last few hours ago having fun with you, the only difference is pink blush that is on his ear, plus in this state he's very emotional in this state, smirking a few times when you were limping next to him, him supporting your entire body. And would order your favorite drink after it. Kaveh would stay with cyno or tighnari if the noise gets too loud.

ZHONGLI, very demure, very mindful. Pink blush appears on his face as well giving you a smile and the eyes full of love. He very much appears as his proper self but more loving. His coat on your shoulder and you guys holding each other's hands together swinging around. His clothes are still in their proper state but his hair is not very messy as if he just let it lose. During his rut you and him would leave going to a mountain to enjoy each other's company.

NEUVILLETE, pretty much blushing the entire time he knows this is an improper way as a judge of Fontaine but he can't hold it in, during trials he looks disheveled and breathing heavily as if he's fantasizing over something, he would send you some looks during trial as if he wants to continue on what's going between you. Once a month he would take a week off of work and the reason for it is by far still a mystery.

WRIOSTHELEY, smirking and winking at you, his shirt button has gone down a few levels revealing his abs with sweat sticking on it, his pants are by far crinkle as if it is on the floor for so long, would whisper on your ear leaving you very much flustered and covering your face with your hands, I'm pretty much sure the entire fortress of meriopede knows you guys business together in his office.

CHILDE, pretty much his happy go looking self with you, smirking, whispering in your ear and sending you the look. Pretty disheveled as if he just won a big battle. Would be very cocky and bragging around, his division would leave his office alone in his request for alone time with you. As well some important documents would have some stains of its weird substance on it.

CAPITANO, appears as if nothing happens to everyone in the fatui in his normal self but very much in a good mood the entire time, his coat is with you sleeping in his tent exhausted after what happened. He will continue on his duties as if normal and nothing happens but plus words of appreciation towards his underlings.

DOTTORE, giggling and smirking the entire time like a school girl, his hair is pulled back by his sweat. Would give you words of admiration and affection towards you and praising you for your accomplishments and would be a little nicer than his usual Impatient self. In this state his much nicer with his experiments and his much older segments are pretty much jealous and wanting to spend time with you.

PANTALONE, sips wine in his very much expensive bath robe while your laying on his bed exhausted, going thru paper works after finishing the equivalent of the meme "he's just nutting inside of me and now he's doing paperwork" would spoil you rotten after it, would go shopping with you and buy you many luxurious gifts, dresses and some expensive lingerie plus new accessories for the next time you guys have a meeting.

[lokissweater]

i know your name ✭

{gojo satoru x f!reader}

summary: gojo satoru was practically everyone’s god as his shiny charming reputation has followed him ever since high school and through college— his band he had with his best friend suguru packing the local college pub every night just to see him sing and play the bass. unbeknownst to you, satoru has been keeping an eye on you, and when you officially meet him right before one of his shows, satoru just about falls to his knees over you.

warnings: MDNI. college au, CAR SMUT be patient!!, fingering, squirting, a bit of oral hehe, cursing, angst, FLUFFF, FILTHY DIRTY TALK, a sprinkle of degradation, tinyyy mentions of alcohol and drinking, gojo is obsessed with reader, afab!reader, jealousy.

word count: 8.8k

authors note: oh my goodness this one took me a FAT MINUTE but it’s SO SO CUTE and i hope you all think so too!! thank you thank you for all of your notes on my works!! MWAHH.

————————————————————————

“please come with me to the alley, i don’t think i can handle one moron and an even bigger moron by myself.”

shoko shimmied her jacket onto her shoulders, a disgruntled and pleading look on her face as she turned to face you. “they’re only playing a few songs, and you don’t have to drink!”

you laughed softly. “who’s they?”

“suguru and satoru, they’re playing at the alley.”

“gojo satoru?���

the cogs in your brain spun as you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, a bit apprehensive. the alley was the place everyone went to at your college to get drunk and laid, and it also happened to be the place where the two boys played their band almost every night— satoru mainly having connections with the owner of the bar to even allow a bunch of college kids to trash the place to begin with.

you didn’t necessarily know satoru, but in your years of observing him back in high school, you knew he was viewed by anyone and everyone as a god, his reputation shiny and impressive as he had the greatest charisma and charm you had ever seen.

you remember back to when basically every other day he was getting confessed to in the halls or in class— or after school… or literally anywhere now that you thought about it.

but satoru has never been prideful or rude, even though it was something that was supposed to be written for him being the most popular guy— but he just simply didn’t follow it.

satoru was kind. really kind. and even though he got millions of confessions per year, he treated each rejection with gentleness and respect, never turning a cold eye to anyone as he apologized profusely and tried to help them feel better.

he always volunteered to do your class banners and plan your school’s activities, festivals, and field trips so nobody else had the burden of missing out on the fun. he always helped out the gardener after school and watered the plants with them (soon after practically taking over the entire shift for free and telling them to relax on a bench), tutored his friends and peers when they asked him for help, and made anyone that felt left out feel included.

that’s why he was so popular. gojo satoru was a ray of sunshine with bright blue eyes and white ruffly hair, with a gorgeous face that you never saw without a smile— loud and obnoxious and a little clumsy, but kind.

“i still don’t know why they started a band.. but they get pretty big tips every night so i guess that’s why,” shoko muttered, sipping the last of her iced tea as she got up from her seat— the cafe you were both sitting in quiet and warm as you copied her actions and stood. “or could be because satoru likes the attention.”

you weren’t close with suguru or satoru like shoko was, and you’ve never even properly met them either, but you always listened to her whenever she’d complain and understood her completely nonetheless.

you laughed at her last comment and smiled. “i’ll go… but i can only stay for two songs! i have class at seven am tomorrow.”

she smiled wide and threw her arms around you, “thank you thank you thank you!”

you’ve never actually been to the alley before, only having heard about it through the grapevine and from your other classmates that went, parties and concerts and drinking never really on the schedule for you. you honestly loved parties and concerts, and you loved the idea of hanging out with people and doing whatever your hearts desired until the sun came up.

but ever since you started college, your high school group kind of disappeared, and now you only really have one true best friend that you preferred over anything else, that being shoko. your nights are usually always calm and filled with studying or self care, your little life quiet and independent as you navigated through the days on your own.

and although you were a bit lonely at times, yearning for another soul to share your nights with, you learned to enjoy your own company.

the alley was a couple of blocks down from the cafe you and shoko were originally at, your ears already picking up on the vibrations of guitars and drums from outside as she approached the bouncer at the front, not even being able to get a word in before the big man was already telling her no.

“no?!” shoko dug into her purse and pulled out her phone. “i was literally here last week, i’m friends with the band that’s playing.”

“sorry we’re at max capacity—”

“it’s okay, they both can come in. they’re on stage with us.”

your eyes snapped to the door and you recognized geto suguru, his long jet black hair cascading down to his shoulders as he sported an all black outfit— politely smiling at the bouncer.

the man moved to the side and ushered us in, shoko’s shoulders dropping in relief as you both walked in and over to a table by the stage. “thank you suguru.”

he nodded. “if i don’t, satoru will throw another fit again and say you don’t love him if you don’t show up.”

shoko rolled her eyes and looked at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “you see what i mean?”

“shoko!” a loud, booming and enthusiastic voice rang through the pub as you turned, spotting none other than satoru with his long arms open, more or less throwing himself on her. “you came!”

“you threatened me—”

“i did no such thing!” he sprung back. “are you not here out of the goodness of your heart? to support your two best boys living their dreams?”

“no.”

“shokooo!” he whined and you giggled, which caused him to snap his head in your direction, finally noticing your presence.

her.

“oh! hello,” he smiled kindly to you and extended his hand. “i’m satoru, and you are?”

“y/n!” you grinned sweetly and politely to him, taking his cold hand in yours and shaking it.

“are you a friend of shoko’s?”

you nodded.

he cocked his head to the side, “how come i’ve never seen you around?”

“oh i don’t go out too often, that’s probably why,” you laughed lightly, a little embarrassed by your answer.

he beamed anyways, his smile so big and brilliant that you were starting to see for yourself exactly why everyone loved him so much, not that you didn’t already know the reason behind it in the first place.

“me neither!”

satoru was still holding your hand.

“yes you do!” shoko scoffed. “you’re barely ever at your apartment and i always have to be your designated driver—”

he gawked, glaring at her. “that’s not true! i was home yesterday!”

“because you were hungover.” suguru mumbled.

you laughed again, and satoru turned back to face you, a grin on his face.

just then, a rather large group of guys started making their way towards your area, all beckoning and calling for satoru while holding up several shot glasses, his head snapping towards their direction and flashing a dazzling smile.

“satoru come!”

“satoru take some with us!”

he gently let go of your hand and raised his, waving high as he readjusted his black round sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, “give me a second! i’ll be over!”

satoru turned back to you, resuming the conversation.

“sorry, she lies. she likes to lie. i’m glad i didn’t go to high school with her.”

“yes we did— i’m going over to your followers and stealing a shot, goodbye.” shoko grumbled, throwing her purse on the table and walking away, dragging suguru along with her.

“we actually um..” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “we went to high school together.”

“oh i know.”

your eyebrows pinched together.

he knows?

“you used to water the garden on days i couldn’t afterschool, right?”

your eyes widened a little.

“oh! and you used to fix the class banners whenever i didn’t notice my fuck up, which was always.” he patted the top of your head and laughed, “thank you for that by the way.”

“you knew?” you murmured, a rosy tint to your cheeks.

“duh,” his eyes softened. “i’m sorry i never thanked you properly then.”

you shook your head dumbly, a little spaced out as you took in what he said. “no it’s okay.”

your eyes then fell to the instruments and band set up behind him, suddenly remembering that he was performing tonight.

“so what do you guys play?” you spoke up gently, hands wringing behind your back. “do you play original songs? or covers?”

“covers! 80’s covers.” he explained excitedly. “suguru and i switch off singing. i play the bass and he plays the guitar, and we have a couple of extra friends in the back playing the drums and keyboard.”

your eyes sparkled as you watched the stage set up process, black chords scattered everywhere on the ground in disarray as several individuals on the platform tuned their instruments or plucked out a few notes.

“80’s?” you perked up. “what kind of 80’s?”

“what kind?”

“yeah! morissey? the cure? new order—”

satoru was awestruck, mouth slightly parted. “you know who they are?”

you quickly nodded, a cute smile on your face.

“you like the cure?” he asked quietly.

“i love the cure.”

satoru practically had hearts in his eyes as he beamed down at you with a stupid face, his heart a little frazzled with a familiar feeling sparkling in his chest.

“satoru!”

he snapped out of his trance and spun around, suguru on stage beckoning him over. “sorry, we have to start.”

“okay!” he walked backwards as he quickly faced you again and smiled, a little frantic. “i’ll talk to you after we play! i’m gonna quiz you on it so pay attention!”

you laughed, your hand covering your mouth a bit as you nodded. “is it counting towards my grade? or is it extra credit?”

“extra credit if you go on a date with me after the show!”

you stopped.

“she can’t! moron,” shoko suddenly appeared beside you and threw an arm around your shoulder. “she’s only staying for two songs!”

gojo’s jaw dropped slack, his shoulders slumping as he got up on stage, arms out. “two?!”

you grimaced, an apologetic look on your face and kind of feeling like a lame grandma as you nodded, “i have class at seven am tomorrow!”

before he could even respond, satoru got pulled by tech crew to test out his microphone, and you and shoko gradually settled yourselves on the high bar stool chairs at your table.

“odd,” she muttered with a funny look on her face.

“hm? what is?” your eyes switched to hers.

“satoru’s never asked a girl out before.”

your eyes bulged open. “never?”

“never.” shoko sipped a little at her beer and gave you a comforting smile. “i’ve always seen girls try it with him and ask him out or simply just follow him around like a lost dog, but he’s never gone after anyone.”

you watched a little smirk spread across her face, and your hands grew a tiny bit sweaty as you swallowed thickly.

“if you’re interested in him, there’s a line. but i think you have a head start.”

the music started— suguru introducing himself, satoru, and the band calm and pleasantly before they began playing their first song. it was loud and rhythmic, vibrations murmuring through the floor as your glass of water shook on the table with every note.

they weren’t bad at all— they were actually pretty good, really good, and you found yourself not really wanting to admit it since it seemed like satoru was good at a million different things regardless of category or genre.

“do they have a name for their band?!” you yelled over the music, leaning your frame a little closer to her without taking your eyes off of the stage.

shoko snorted, “the strongest monkeys.”

you threw your head back and laughed loudly, looking at her incredulously. “really?!”

as he performed on stage, satoru noticed you laugh and he smiled against the microphone, a vision he connected back to high school, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was internally a little unsteady as your pretty eyes watched him play and sing— feeling embarrassed whenever he would trip over a chord clumsily like he seemed to do at every freaking show, but feeling better seeing as it made you giggle.

by the end of their second song, you showed shoko the time on your phone and tried to stand as discretely as possible in attempts at not disturbing anyone around you, grabbing your purse from the arm of your chair and swinging it over your shoulder.

but when you looked up, satoru was already looking at you as suguru spoke through the microphone, his eyes wide and pleading as he held up his index finger.

“one more song!” he mouthed. “please.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip anxiously, your eyes darting around the pub and back to the time on your phone before they landed again on satoru.

“stay.” he mouthed again.

and for reasons you couldn’t explain, your body pulled you back down on the stool and you sat— shoko quirking an eyebrow at you in confusion.

satoru’s face broke out into the brightest smile, a smile equivalent to the blinding rays of the sun as he pushed up his round sunglasses and gave you a cute thumbs up.

“thank you.”

and your heart stuttered.

you eventually decided to stay for the rest of the show, seeing as it was already late as fuck anyways— and they played few more songs then, a mix of well known 80’s songs as well as a few underrated ones, your head nodding gently to the beat and swaying your little shoulders. in the midst of it, satoru had been watching and glancing in your direction so many times throughout the show, that he subconsciously started mimicking your little shoulder sway on stage as he performed.

college girls screamed practically every five minutes when the boys did anything, some even going as far as running up the platform and reaching up for satoru’s hands or ankles as he played, him smiling bright at each and every one of them with shoko shaking her head in disappointment— her forehead falling to the palm of her hand as you laughed.

ironically by the end of it, the band closed with the cure, and as the crowd dispersed and several took their leave from the alley— some shouting words of praise at the boys, you and shoko stood and walked over to the stage. satoru in a heartbeat noticed you coming over and hooked his mic quickly back on the mic stand, tossing the strap of his bass over his shoulders and setting it down before hopping off stage.

“did you like it?” he panted hopefully, trying to catch his breath as his forehead glistened with sweat, his hands on his hips.

you smiled gently. “i did! good job, you both played really great songs.”

suguru gave you a small smile in gratitude from the platform as he unplugged and untangled a few chords— and satoru beamed, nodding. “i’m glad! okay, here comes your quiz!”

“oh god.”

“we played the cure at the end…” satoru dragged out.

“mhm…”

“what song?” he tilted his head to the side, and your cheeks went pink as you grinned.

“pictures of you,” you replied softly. “it’s my favorite one.”

satoru’s forehead fell to rest against your shoulder, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“i would expect nothing less from you, y/n.”

you hummed out a laugh, and his heart did a tiny somersault at the sound before he picked his head back up and looked at you softly.

“thank you for staying.”

shoko bounded over to you then and looped her arm through yours. “ready to go?”

you nodded quickly before smiling sweetly at satoru. “i’ll see you around! thank you for—”

“wait!” he shot his arms out frantically with wide eyes. “what about our date?”

you froze. “our date?”

“unless you want the quiz to count towards your grade…” he mumbled lowly, eyes darting on everything and everywhere except you with pinky cheeks.

“i didn’t think you were being serious about that..” you spoke gently.

his eyebrows furrowed. “why not?”

“because you’re gojo satoru,” shoko butt in.

you quickly flicked her forehead— your lips pressed into a thin line, earning a little laugh from satoru as you turned your head to look at him again.

“i have an early class tomorrow… ill see you around though, okay?”

without thinking, satoru reached over and placed a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you to face him.

“let me take you to class.”

shoko and suguru exchanged a look and your lips parted, eyebrows pinching together.

“what?”

“i’ll take you to class in the morning,” he looked desperate. “and i won’t count the quiz towards your grade.”

you were skeptical, very skeptical, unsure of what satoru wanted from you in this situation. you had just met him, properly at least, and though you knew he was a good person, you weren’t sure if that was still relevant in the field of picking up girls.

you looked to shoko, who shrugged, and your eyes landed back to satoru’s pleading one’s, your entire body and soul hesitating.

“i—” you gnawed at your bottom lip, a nervous habit as you took in the way he looked like a sad little puppy the longer you took to respond, your heart not having the ability to ever say no to anyone, ever. not even him.

“okay.”

his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a puff of relieved air as he gave you the biggest smile, nodding hopefully.

“okay! h—here-” he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. “if i could— if i could have your number? and i’ll text you when im on my way and stuff…”

you shakily took satoru’s phone, the screen already opened up to the ‘add contact’ feature as you typed in your number before passing it back to him.

“thank you!” he beamed. “i’ll see you tomorrow then?”

he was so excited, and you really didn’t know why, but you couldn’t help but give him a sweet smile of yours in return, nodding.

“see you.”

when you finally arrived home that night, it didn’t take satoru even ten minutes after that to text you.

(unknown): i have good news for you miss y/n

you stared at your phone, your heart jumping a bit as you typed back a response.

(you): and i have bad news for you satoru

(satoru): WHAT

(satoru): ok wait me first

(satoru): congrats you passed my class!! that quiz bumped up your grade from 0% to 100% ur so smart

(satoru): but if your bad news is you rejecting me i’m FAILING you

(you): HAHAHAHA

(you): silly silly

(you): my bad news was that i always have banana milk on my way to school in the mornings and unfortunately i don’t have any extra for you :(

(you): i ran out ;(

within the two minutes that it took for you to respond with your declared bad news, satoru was absolutely shitting it, wholeheartedly believing you were going to reject him and leave him to dramatically rot away all alone.

he replied quickly, a goofy smile on his face.

(satoru): that’s literally the only reason why i asked you out :(

(you): and how do you know i have banana milk in the mornings before school?

(satoru): OH

(satoru): SO ABOUT TOMORROW

you giggled, wiping the last of your makeup off and turning off your vanity light before jumping into bed, snuggling into your covers as the cool air softly touched your face from your open window.

(you): *address*

(you): pick me up at 6:30 please, if that’s okay :)

(satoru): i’ll pick you up at six miss y/n

(you): SIX WHY

(satoru): for a breakfast date silly!! okay goodnight xoxo

you hadn’t even realized the huge stupid smile on your face until your rosy cheeks started to ache.

(you): HAHAHA

(you): goodnight <3

a heart?!

satoru stuffed his face into his pillow, feeling like little love birdies were flying around his head and pecking at his hair.

the following morning, you ran your fingers through your hair and probably fixed your outfit a million trillion times before you were satisfied, a huge lump in your throat as you gnawed so much at your bottom lip that it drew blood.

you were nervous, but why? you didn’t know why. maybe because it was gojo satoru picking you up. maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t had a guy try to hit on you in what felt like a decade, the last time really being the last day of high school when you randomly found a note in your locker, the words literally illegible.

maybe it was the fact that satoru was the most handsome man you have ever seen.

but so was he to everybody else.

(satoru): i’m outside! :]

you wiped your clammy hands on your legs and stood, hiking your school bag further up your shoulder before walking down the stairs and out the door, seeing satoru seated in his car in your driveway.

you timidly opened the door to the passenger side and stepped in.

“hi!” he greeted cheerfully and proceeded to place his hand on the back of your headrest as he backed out, looking through his rear view mirror.

“hi!” you said gently. “you’re not tired?”

“nuh uh,” he smiled at you. “i had three energy drinks before i got you.”

your head instantly whipped in his direction. “satoru— three?!”

he giggled at your reaction, the sides of his blue eyes crinkling as he patted your head. “don’t worry silly, i’ve had maybe five at a time before—”

“five?!”

you slumped against the passenger seat and closed your eyes. “satoru, you’re gonna develop heart problems if you keep this up.”

“nah,” he reached into the backseat, his eyes still on the road. “i’m the strongest.”

and you snorted then, watching him retrieve two small bottles of juice from the back without taking his eyes off of the road.

“i got us orange juice— wait do you like orange juice? oh fuck maybe—”

you giggled and waved him off, taking both bottles from his hands. “it’s okay! i do like orange juice, thank you.” you settled them on your lap neatly. “i’ll hold them while you drive.”

“aww thanks sweets,” he murmured affectionately, and your face instantly went warm to the touch.

“i also got us breakfast bagels so we can sit and people watch before your class—” his eyes snapped to yours. “if— if that’s okay.”

your heart skipped a beat at his planning, nodding as you reached into your school bag and pulled out a little yellow carton, holding it out for him as he drove.

satoru tore his gaze away from the road momentarily and looked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“your daily morning banana milk?”

you smiled softly, nudging it towards him. “for you.”

he physically melted as he looked at your sweet sweet face and back towards the road.

“you’re giving up your banana milk— for me?”

you tore off the straw from the back of the milk box, sticking it through the little opening and offering it to him again.

“yup yup.”

he bit his lower lip as he gratefully took the milk box from you, giddy and flustered on the inside as he took tiny sips.

“an absolute delicacy, thank you miss y/n.”

before you even realized it, satoru was already pulling in to the campus parking lot, shifting his gear into park and turning off the ignition before opening his door.

“don’t move!” he sputtered suddenly. “don’t touch that door hold on—”

he slammed his door shut and you watched quizzically as he ran across the front of the car and opened the door for you, flashing an award winning smile that could shatter the earth if he wanted to.

you still couldn’t piece together why he was doing so much for you or why he was interested in the first place, but as you watched him set up the breakfast bagels cutely as you both sat on the bench, him carefully handing you yours along with your orange juice, you didn’t really have the heart to ask him why.

maybe it was the more selfish side of you, the one that always longed to share little moments like this with another being, the one that always spent her days alone watching movies or doing little crafts in her room to keep the time going, a bittersweet feeling in your chest every time you saw your classmates or casual friends post about their parties or outings.

you hadn’t realized that you didn’t respond to whatever satoru had said, and you snapped out of it.

“fuck— i’m sorry satoru, i spaced out.” you laughed softly. “what were you saying?”

he stared at you, his eyes examining your face. “what’s wrong?”

“huh?”

“what were you thinking about?”

“it was— it was nothing,” you took a sip of your orange juice. “i forgot.”

satoru shoved his face close to yours, your breath hitching and your cheeks growing pink as you watched his eyes scan every part of you, his expression concerned.

“something’s bothering you,” he hummed. “am i being too forward? i’m— i’m sorry sometimes i don’t even realize—“

“no!” you shot your arms out frantically and placed them on his shoulders, “no, it’s not that, you’re okay satoru. everything you’ve done has been really nice, so thank you.”

your voice was so sweet as you spoke to him, and even though it made him feel better to some degree, he still couldn’t shake the empty and sad look he saw on your face when you were spaced out.

he slowly retreated back and hesitantly nodded as you placed your hands back on your lap, your fingers then tearing a piece from your breakfast bagel and plopping it into your mouth.

“did you ever find…” he spoke in between bites. “a note in your locker the last day of high school?”

your eyebrows furrowed, taken aback. “how do you know about that?”

he swallowed, a sheepish look on his face. “that was me. i put that note in.”

your eyes widened as your body completely froze over, putting your bagel down— the wrapper crinkling underneath as you did so.

“really?”

satoru nodded, his flushed cheeks prominent on his pale skin as he suddenly found his bagel super interesting to look at.

“what did it say?”

he looked at you baffled. “what did it say? what do you mean?”

you giggled then, your hand covering your mouth as you leaned forward a little bit. “i could— i could barely read it. the handwriting-“

“oh my fucking god!” satoru threw his arms up in despair. “that explains so much. i was so sad i straight up thought you hated me.”

you stopped. “what do you mean?”

“i wrote my name and how i thought you were really pretty, and then i wrote my number at the bottom.” he dropped his shaking head in his hands, laughing. “but i wrote it really fast because i saw you coming so i just stuffed it in there.”

he slumped over his legs on the bench, his elbows on his knees as he moaned.

“you think i’m pretty?” you asked softly.

he turned his head to the side as he was hunched over, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he smiled gently. “very.”

gojo satoru thought you were pretty.

you smiled cutely at him, reaching out and pushing his sunglasses back up his eyes, yours warm and endearing. “silly.”

you leaned back on the bench and giggled. “to be fair satoru, even if i was able to read your note, i probably would’ve thought it was a prank.”

“a prank? why?” his shoulders deflated, an unamused look on his face. “because i’m ‘gojo satoru’ like shoko said—”

“no,” you pushed. “because you’re a good person. you always go above and beyond for others and i’ve seen that as long as i’ve known you.”

you crossed a leg over the other and smiled softly. “and because of that i’m really not sure why you like me satoru, i haven’t really done anything special but—”

“what you just said is a crime. the way you think about me is the way i think about you.” he cut in, eyes serious. “you think you don’t do anything special? i literally watched you all through high school bend over backwards for people, for me, like i did,“ he sighed through his nose. “but your intentions were genuine and pure, mine were not.”

he finished the last of his bagel and crumpled up the wrapper into a ball, tossing it in the trash can next to him as he leaned back.

satoru swallowed. “i feel like if i don’t do the things that i do for people, ill end up disappointing everyone i know. i feel like everyone’s built this image of me that i don’t even know where the fuck it came from—” he shook his head. “but i don’t want to tarnish that. i don’t want to let people down. so i just let them ask me for stuff. i don’t even like going out that much either, believe it or not. i just go when they call.”

he crossed his arms. “whenever people do do something in return for me, it’s like i’m forever in their debt and they’re always expecting something from me back.”

your sad eyes softened, the confession in front of you a reaction from him you realized must’ve been buried deep deep down his chest— without any prior chance of resurfacing until this very moment.

you never thought about his situation this way. you would’ve never thought that satoru could’ve felt like this about his own reputation, something you guiltily believed was a thing he was absolutely floored over.

“you never expected anything back from me though,” he murmured. “you fixed my fucked up banners and switched around reservations when i absentmindedly chose the wrong thing for our school field trips, and you never said a word about it to me or anyone, and you didn’t expect anything back.”

he finally turned his bright blue eyes in your direction, and looked at you so deeply, so sincerely, that your mind went completely blank.

“that’s why i like you,” satoru bashfully scratched his cheek. “you do special things everyday and— and i was moved.”

there was a moment of silence, satoru staring at the ground as you stared at him, a delicate and insecure side of him unfolding before you that you don’t think anyone has ever seen, and you intended to keep it that way— wanting this special moment selfishly just for you.

you slowly leaned forward then as you made him look at you.

“its natural for you to be upset and think indifferently about people walking all over you, toru. it doesn’t mean you’re not genuine or pure.”

raising your arm, you poked his pink cheek gently and gave him a little comforting smile. “it actually only further solidifies to me how much of a good person you are. because even though people take advantage of your kindness, you help them with what they need regardless, and do way more.”

his eyes softened.

“at the end of the day, even though it makes you a little mad, you want to help people, because if you didn’t, you simply wouldn’t do it.”

you nudged his shoulder playfully with yours, “but not anymore, okay? from now on when people are blatantly taking advantage of how nice you are, you have to draw a line they can’t cross.”

he smiled wide.

“i’d let you cross it.”

“no not even me,” you shook your head. “not that’d i’d ever anyways.”

he looked at you, and then unexpectedly, satoru slowly leaned in and pressed a delicate, soft kiss to your cheek— his lips lingering there greedily for a few seconds more before pulling away, your shocked bright pink cheeks making him burst out laughing.

you missed class without even realizing, but you didn’t have an ounce of care in your body, seeing as satoru was worth more than anything from that point on.

since then you both hung out a lot more, and you still had your little quiet nights of self care, arts and crafts, and movies— except now, satoru was present in every activity.

satoru longed for your lifestyle, and you longed for his— so the act of watching movies together until two in the morning, making horrific origami bird shapes that never looked like the pictures in the instruction manual and laughing, sorting through his 80’s cd collection in his apartment while he sampled a few for you on his bass, and singing the cure so loud through his car sunroof while he drove you aimlessly at night with a strong grip on your thigh, were all a perfect blend of exactly what you both needed most.

it was several months of spending every waking moment together that you soon eventually became a little thing with satoru. there wasn’t an official label, and you guys hadn’t even kissed, but the longer than normal embraces, kisses on each others cheeks, and intertwined fingers everywhere you went was an obvious sign that something was there.

you picked up on how people looked at you more often rather quickly ever since satoru started bringing you around his circle, wondering how you came out of nowhere and captured his attention when thousands had tried for years.

and though most welcomed you with open arms and kind smiles, the majority of his girl fan base was bitter.

shoko often told you to just shake it off and not pay any mind to it, saying that it was a bunch of mean girls with nothing better to do, but it got a little harder once a pretty black haired girl named lina started grabbing satoru for conversations almost every night at the alley.

and today was no different.

“hi sweets!” satoru greeted you enthusiastically, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you arrived early to the pub to help him and suguru set up for tonight’s show. “you look very pretty today.”

“thank you!” you smiled wide and leaned up on your tippy toes, your body automatically pulling your lips to his until you quickly steered them to the corner of his mouth, pecking lightly before settling back down on the soles of your feet.

that wasn’t the first time you had almost accidentally kissed him, but it wasn’t just you, as satoru slipped up almost every second of every day when you both were together— the thought making you laugh internally as you followed him to the stage.

“don’t help out this time—” he pleaded gently with you as he took a high barstool chair for you and dragged it closer to the stage. “i want you to just sit and be pretty.”

you tilted your head to the side. “why toru? i don’t mind helping out i like it—”

“no i know!” he smiled sweetly at you. “but i want you to just sit there and relax and not lift a finger tonight. you’ll hurt yourself if you do.”

you giggled softly and nodded, hopping up on the stool and wringing your fingers together on your lap as you watched satoru set up his amp and readjust his mic stand, gnawing on your bottom lip as you watched the way his biceps and chest looked in his black compression tee.

“are you thirsty sweets?” he asked, his eyes trained to the ground as he untangled a bunch of chords and threw them behind him. “i can get you something from the bar?”

“oh no!” you shook your head quickly. “it’s okay toru you’re busy—”

satoru hopped off the stage and jogged over to the bar, him exchanging a few words with the bartender that you couldn’t quite make out until he jogged back over with a cold glass of sugary iced tea, placing it on your table under a coaster.

“for you.”

you smiled sheepishly, “thank you.”

“if you need—”

“satoru! hey!”

you snapped your head over to the entrance and saw lina, her wave a little flirty as she bounced over to the both of you.

lina only spared you a glance before her sparkling suggestive eyes landed back on satoru.

“oh hey?” he looked over at the clock on the wall. “im sorry, the alley doesn’t open for another two hours—”

“oh i know!” she twirled a strand of hair with her fingers. “i just wanted to stop by and see if you needed any help? you know, setting up?”

what.

your eyebrows pinched together and you looked at satoru, waiting for his answer.

“oh! um— sure! thanks!” he smiled at her, and you felt a pang of annoyance through your chest as you watched him lead her on stage and give her directions, much like how he did for you when you helped out.

you crossed a leg over the other and looked away.

satoru wasn’t your boyfriend, so it wasn’t like you could say anything or feel the way that you did… but then again, isn’t he kind of? you didn’t know, and the more you wracked your brain to try and figure out what exactly the both of you were, the angrier you got at the situation in front of you.

satoru flashed lina his world famous dazzling smile, cracked joke after joke and made her laugh, helped her when she went “confused” and helpless, and even showed her basic chords on his bass when she asked.

you pursed your lips, eyes narrowed. satoru was smiling at her the way he smiled at you and cracking jokes the way he joked with you, and your jealousy only grew as you let your mind wander if the way satoru treated you was actually anything significant if he was willing to do it for some random girl.

you sat there for what had felt like forever, people starting to pile in for the show as the alley opened, and you hopped off the stool bitterly to cool off in the restroom, not bothering to let satoru know.

just as you got in line, you felt a hand tug at your wrist.

“y/n!”

you turned around and spotted shoko, smiling until she took in your annoyed expression.

“what’s wrong?”

“lina,” you muttered.

“oh god,” shoko leaned her weight on one side of her hip. “what the fuck is she doing now?”

“satoru help me, satoru how many chords does a bass have? satoru you’re so good at singing! satoru you owe me after this!” you mimicked, your heart heavy as you let shoko lead you back to your table.

“she’s getting braver,” she muttered. “say the word y/n and i’ll fake trip and spill my drink on her it’s easy—”

you snorted, “no no, it’s okay shoko. if satoru wants to let himself be drooled over and do nothing about it in respects to me, he can be my guest.”

the show started, girls already screaming and running up the stage with, of course, lina front and center by satoru, jumping and wiggling her sick fingers up at him.

satoru was like he normally was at his shows— attentive to everyone and being just who he is, but what ticked you off more than usual was how much attention he was paying to lina, way more than the rest, and you couldn’t even watch the stage anymore when satoru reached down and held her hand for a moment, not once glancing up at you.

you were done.

“i think i’m gonna go!” you shouted to shoko over the music.

“what?!” shoko grabbed your arm. “don’t go! it’s almost over! i wanna see you chew him out!”

you laughed and shook your head. “i can’t stand being here, and he clearly doesn’t care whether i’m here or not right now so—”

more screams.

both of your heads snapped to the source.

lina was on stage with him.

you scoffed and grabbed your purse, ignoring shoko’s protests as you pushed your way through the crowd and away from the stage.

when satoru finally decided to scan for you through the pub, his eyebrows furrowed as he saw your seat empty and shoko glaring straight murderous daggers at him.

“where is she going?” he mouthed to shoko.

“home!” she spat loudly, getting up herself and disappearing through the crowd.

satoru’s eyes immediately widened, his fingers clammy and numb as he started to pluck the wrong notes, suguru giving him a weird look.

“carry the show without me,” satoru quickly told him, frantic. “please, i have to go.”

suguru nodded and waved him off, seeming like he knew why satoru’s skin was sickishly pale as he carried on calmly.

it wasn’t like you to just leave without him or not tell him anything, so as he threw the strap of his bass over his shoulders and handed it to a tech member, he hopped off stage and ran through the crowd, ignoring their pleas of protest or the tugging he felt at his clothes.

you were halfway down the parking lot when you heard the pub door slam open and footsteps running towards you.

“sweets!—” satoru yelled. “hey- where are you going?!”

“home!” you yelled over your shoulder, arms crossed as you kept walking.

satoru’s stomach dropped.

“y/n!” he caught up to you and grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around as he tried to catch his breath. “why? are you okay?”

“just fine!” you spat. “why don’t you go back on stage and drool all over lina—”

“lina?” he gawked. “drool? what are you talking—”

you shrugged his hands off of your shoulders. “do you not see how she’s been all over you for what seems like fucking months?! and you just let her! i’ve been ignoring it but today you really pissed me off—”

you turned away again and he immediately grabbed your waist with his hands, pulling you back.

“hey- no. tell me what i did okay just tell me—”

you scoffed. “you really don’t see it? first of all she came to the alley two fucking hours early today, and then she’s all over you and you’re all over her and you’re smiling at her and making her laugh like you do with me, and then she’s playing the little damsel in distress helping you set up while i just sat there and watched—”

“all over her?” his eyes narrowed. “i couldn’t give less of a shit about lina—”

“apparently you do!” you moved away from him, his hands falling from your hips. “because she’s giving you the ‘i wanna fuck you eyes’ every two seconds, and you’re holding her hand while you’re on stage, and then you literally pulled her on?! what the fuck am i supposed to think with that?!”

“i didn’t pull her on she jumped on!” satoru exclaimed, his arms out. “i’m sorry sweets that i didn’t notice okay i really am, but have you stopped to think that maybe i didn’t notice because i don’t care about her? i—”

“satoru you’ve been completely ignoring me the minute she got here—”

“toru.” he cut you off, voice firm. “it’s toru not satoru.”

you stopped, frustrated and hurt tears slowing brimming your eyes as you looked at him. “maybe you being a little flirt for everyone was okay before, but the minute you decided to butter me up and kiss my cheeks and call me sweets, that should’ve been over.”

“it is!” he exclaimed. “it’s been over! it never even started in the first place!”

“yes it did! you think i haven’t been watching how you are with people since high school?— you know what i’m done. i’m leaving.”

you sniffled and spun around again, but satoru only grabbed your wrist tightly and wrung you back.

“you think i haven’t been watching you?! i’ve loved you since fucking high school god dammit! i’m obsessed with you! when we officially met at the alley and i introduced myself i already knew your name and you know that! i don’t give a single living fuck about lina or anyone else but you! it’s always been you!”

you wiped your tears roughly with your sleeve.

gojo satoru loved you.

“so no. you’re not done. please don’t cry. all i’ve ever wanted was you and i let you slip through my hands in high school because i was a coward, and id rather die than let you slip through my fucking hands again and lose you over a stupid fight when i just got you!—”

“you’re not losing me i’m not going anywhere toru where the hell are you getting that from?!” you exclaimed.

“thank fuck then, so what are we still doing?! i’d cut everyone in my life off if you asked me to!—”

“no don’t do that! i was just jealous okay and i’m— and i’m angry—”

“okay but do you love me?!” he pushed angrily.

“yes! of course i do you know that!”

“okay so do i baby so what the fuck are we still fighting for?!”

“i don’t know!”

“stop giving me your little attitude then and come kiss me!”

your lips instantly collided with his as you threw your arms around his neck, fast hurried kisses that knocked the wind out of you as you both hungrily and fiercely tried to swallow each other’s lips, satoru tapping the back of your thighs and signaling you to jump on him.

you immediately sprung up and wrapped your legs around his waist, him holding you tight as he carried you over to his car and leaned you against the backseat door, his lips messily licking and swiping over yours as he seemed drunk on the taste of your sweet spit alone.

satoru dug through his pockets without breaking from your lips and found his keys, unlocking his car with a tap of a button and gently lowering you inside, him scrambling in after you and slamming the door shut, locking it.

he towered over you as he latched his lips back on yours, you laying flat on your back with your legs spread, satoru’s big cold hands on the sides of your thighs as he slowly slid your tiny little denim skirt further up— right up until he felt your silky panties under his fingertips.

“i gotta—” he said in between kisses. “take them off—”

you nodded quickly. “please take them off—”

satoru didn’t even let you finish before he practically tore your panties down your legs and stuffed them in his back pocket, his breathing erratic.

“oh my goodness,” he spread your legs gently, eyes completely wide and glazed over as he looked at your slick and shiny pussy. “you’re so pretty baby, just like how i pictured you.”

he ran a finger down your slit and your hips jumped, your teeth biting down on your lower lip as you let out a symphony of whines that satoru wanted to record on his phone and play morning, noon, and night for himself and his dick.

he stared mesmerized at your fuzzy pink cheeks and swollen wet lips as he slowly rubbed over your clit, you immediately grabbing his unoccupied hand and sticking his middle finger in your mouth to suck in response.

“oh my god—” he threw his head back, his delicious adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “you’re gonna make me cum in my fucking pants.”

he felt you bob your head up and down slowly on his finger and his head snapped down, eyes widening as he watched you act like a little slut for him, his hands with a mind of their own as he inserted his unoccupied middle finger in your slurping hole.

you let out a muffled gasp through the digit in your mouth and you spread your legs wider, his long and mouthwatering finger pumping in and out of you slowly, satoru’s body literally shivering at the sounds of your warm squelching pussy.

“listen to her baby…” he hummed. “she’s so fucking loud for me… how embarrassing.”

“toruuu,” you whined at his teasing, clamping your legs shut as you felt the tip of his finger hit that sweet spot in your walls that made your toes curl.

“open your legs.” he demanded. “who said you could close them, hm? i sure fucking didn’t.”

satoru picked up the pace and slipped in his ring finger without warning, your walls stretching and filling up as he abused your little cunt rapidly.

“you ever squirted before baby?” he huffed out, lips eating up your neck as you shuddered, your body jolting up and down at how fast he was fingering you.

you shook your head dumbly. “n—no, i don’t think i can—”

satoru laughed and bit your neck meanly. “yes you can sweets, your little pussy was just waiting for me to do it.”

he went even faster, a series of slap slap slap’s filling the car as his palm and digits hit your cunt repeatedly, sticky and soppy as he moaned over and over in your ear, absolutely intoxicated with the sloshing noises of your pussy and the way it was speaking to him, satoru utterly and incandescently obsessed with everything that was you.

“m—my god—” he panted, his pace brutal and animalistic as his long fingers rapidly plunged into your gummy hot hole, his tongue licking and slopping all over the side of your neck, your moans straight up filthy as the windows of his car fogged up.

“fuck fuck fuck fuck—” he dragged his mushy kisses from your neck up to your chin and back to your lips. “be my girlfriend—” slap slap slap— “p-please be my girlfriend be my girlfriend i need you so bad i c-can’t live without you anymore—”

you eagerly nodded, your thighs shaking as you gripped his shoulders and tried to keep up with his kisses that swallowed your lips up hole. “y-yes— mph! i will toru i will—”

his car shook violently as he fucked your cunt with his fingers without mercy, an unfamiliar intense feeling bubbling up at the pit of your stomach as he did so, your entire pussy pulsing and swollen as you squealed, massive droplets of liquid spraying all over satoru and the leather seats of his car.

“fuck yes baby, give me what i want that’s it—”

satoru groaned so loudly as you squirted, him jerking his nasty fingers to selfishly get more out of you.

“thaaaats it sweets—” he panted, slowing down. “that’s it.”

you evidently blacked out at this point, your brain misty and distorted as you tried to come down from your delirious high, a high you’ve never ever felt before with your own digits.

satoru licked his fingers raunchily and lowered his face to your pussy, cleaning up any remnants and left over drops on your thighs and pussy with his perverted tongue, your body jerking and you whining again as you shut your thighs closed in overstimulation.

he came back up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before flashing you the biggest most innocent smile, as if he didn’t just absolutely destroy your cunt minutes ago without grace.

slowly, you regained a sense of direction and finally looked at him properly as he sat down and pulled you gently up by his arms, your body practically limp as he settled you on his lap and hugged you affectionately, his cheek squished up against your forehead.

“so can you squirt or what.” he teased softly, a smile still on his face.

you giggled shyly and buried your face in his neck. “i made a mess.”

“that’s literally what i wanted don’t even start.” he mumbled, and you laughed again, louder this time.

“were you serious about me being your girlfriend?” you asked suddenly, your voice smaller and timid. satoru pulled back and tilted his head, catching your eyes with his.

“of course i was,” he said quietly. “i literally begged you while my fingers were knuckle deep in—”

you covered your face with your hands and laughed with a whine. “stop! okay okay! i get it.”

you took your face away from his neck and looked at him properly, tilting your head cutely as your eyes shined and sparkled with affection, him giving you the same look back as you leaned up and pecked his lips lovingly.

“you know…” you began. “when we first properly met and you asked me out that night, shoko told me there was a line i had to stand in if i was interested in you.”

satoru snorted, his eyebrows raised. “a line?”

you nodded. “mhm. you literally can’t pretend there isn’t one toru… and lina is in it too,” you finished off, snickering.

he rolled his eyes and huffed, feigning annoyance, but when he looked at you again, he only smiled and stared at you like you hung the moon and stars yourself, a blush to his pale cheeks that never seemed to go away as long as you were around.

“line or not—” he sincerely spoke.

“you’ve always been the first one.”

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤCOLD SHOULDERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : When You Give Them the Cold Shoulder.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Stephanie Brown, Male Cassandra Cain, Terry McGinnis.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Bruce doesn’t do well with emotional games—he’s a man of logic, deduction, and shadows. So when you stop talking to him, no good morning kiss, no sarcastic remark about the news over coffee, no goodbye as he leaves for a mission—you can feel the shift.

He notices instantly.

He doesn’t say anything at first. That’s the terrifying part. He just looks at you. Like he’s dissecting you. Like you’re a crime scene.

“Something wrong?” he asks, voice even, mask already half on.

You shrug and walk away.

Bruce is bothered, but he doesn’t chase. Not yet. He waits, watches. You don’t text him that night. You don’t check in. You leave the mansion before he wakes up.

By day three, you find your favorite flowers at your doorstep. A small envelope. His handwriting:

“I’m not good at this. But I care. Whatever I did—talk to me.”

He doesn’t beg. Bruce doesn’t beg. But his apology is in the way the manor seems colder without him trying to sit beside you. It’s in the quiet presence at the edge of your room, waiting for you to just look at him.

When you finally crack, he just opens his arms and says quietly, “Next time… yell at me. Don’t shut me out. I can’t fix what I don’t see.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Dick panics the second he realizes you’re giving him the cold shoulder. You’re usually so warm, so expressive—and now you’re cold? Quiet? Passive-aggressively sipping your drink and not laughing at his dumb joke?

He’s spiraling.

“Wait, what’d I do? Babe—babe, I know that look. That’s the ‘you’re dead to me’ look—what’d I do?”

You don’t answer.

He physically follows you around the apartment like a lost puppy. Tries to “accidentally” run into you in the kitchen. Holds up his phone like:

“Look. This meme? That I sent? You didn’t even react. You always react.”

By the end of the day, he’s crawling into bed beside you like a kicked dog, poking your shoulder.

“Listen. I know I messed up. I probably messed up bad. Just tell me, okay? I’ll make it up to you. Dinner, flowers, matching onesies, whatever you want. Please just talk to me again—I’m going crazy over here.”

Dick’s the kind of guy who feels the silence like a scream. He doesn’t stop until you finally crack and yell at him—and he just sighs in relief. “Thank God. You’re talking. Yell at me all you want, babe, just talk.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason is... not the most emotionally mature guy in the room. So when you go quiet on him? He clocks it right away.

His first instinct is: “The hell is her problem?”

His second: “What did I do?”

His third: “…Okay, fine. Two can play that game.”

So now it’s a Cold War.

You ignore him? He ignores you harder. You roll your eyes? He scoffs. You sleep with your back to him? He “accidentally” hogs the blanket.

But here’s the thing: Jason’s bluffing. He’s miserable. He’s sitting on the fire escape chain-smoking because he’s too stubborn to just apologize first. He types out ten different “hey princess…” texts and deletes them all.

When you finally call him out—maybe you explode, maybe you just break down and say why you’re mad—Jason goes quiet. Real quiet.

Then he sighs. Pulls you into a hug.

“…I’m sorry, okay?” he mumbles into your hair. “I’m not good at the soft shit. But I love you. Don’t shut me out like that. It makes me… fuckin’ mad.”

Next time? He apologizes faster. Still grumpy about it. But faster.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Damian refuses to acknowledge the cold shoulder at first.

You ignore him? Fine. He acts like he doesn’t care.

You roll your eyes? “Tt.”

You don’t respond to his usual sarcastic quips? “Clearly you’ve lost your sense of humor.”

But after a day or two? The cracks show.

He brings you your favorite tea and doesn’t say anything about it. Sits in your space and watches you out of the corner of his eye like a stray cat too proud to beg for food.

By day three, he’s visibly tense. The only sign of his growing unease is the way he overworks in the training room and snaps at everyone else.

Finally, he corners you. Not aggressively—but intensely. Arms crossed, lips thin, standing in your doorway like an angry little kitten.

“What did I do?” he asks, voice flat. “You’re angry. I can tell.”

He’s blunt. He doesn’t beg. But there’s a desperation in the way he hovers. When you finally tell him what hurt you, his jaw clenches. His apology is awkward but sincere.

“…I did not intend to hurt you. That was not my aim. But I apologize nonetheless.”

And then, softer: “Please don’t shut me out again. It’s… difficult to function when you are upset with me.”

Damian shows love through action. So after that? He acts. Flowers from your favorite place in the city. A sketch of you he drew at 3 a.m. A stubborn but heartfelt vow to “do better.”

Even if he still tts.

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

Barry is used to being in control—so when you go silent on him, it throws him hard.

He notices right away. And at first? He’s cocky. Teasing.

“Oh, we’re mad? What, you jealous of Supergirl again?”

You glare.

“…That was a joke.”

But when you don’t laugh—or worse, don’t even look at him—Barry starts pacing. Literally.

He’ll spend all night analyzing the conversation that led to this.

“Was it the mission? Did I interrupt you? Did I mansplain something again? God, I did, didn’t I?”

He’ll call. Text. Show up at your window. Tap the glass like a wet cat.

When you finally let him in, he talks a mile a minute.

“Okay, okay, I know I’m a jackass. I was being flirty at the gala, but that was just protocol! Diplomacy, babe! I love you!”

If you stay cold even then, he’ll finally drop the charm. Get real quiet.

“…Just tell me how to fix it. Please. I’ll do anything. Even sit through Titanic again.”

You do not want to know how fast he hugs you once you cave. Barry loves loud, but he hurts quiet.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

Stephen is devastated.

He thrives off your attention. Your warmth. Your laughter. So when you suddenly go cold on him, he spirals.

First step: Denial.

“Ha ha… you’re just messing with me, right?”

You aren’t.

Second step: Drama.

“Okay, okay, is this about the glitter incident? Because in my defense, I thought it was washable—”

Still silence.

Third step: Crybaby.

He lays on the floor. Arm draped over his face.

“God is punishing me.”

Stephen texts you like:

💔

why have u forsaken me

[voice memo of him singing “All By Myself” into a fan]

Eventually, though, the jokes fade. He gets quiet. You find him on the fire escape, legs dangling, hoodie over his head.

“…I hate this,” he mutters when you finally approach. “Not knowing what I did. Not being able to fix it. You not… being you with me.”

He sniffs, trying to play it off.

“I know I’m a dumbass sometimes. But I swear I love you. Like, a lot. Like, "I’d let you kick me" love you.”

Once you forgive him? He clings.

“Never do that again,” he whispers into your neck. “Cold Shoulder You is my least favorite version.”

Also, you catch him journaling later:

“Today I almost died. Emotionally. Y/n was mad. But I survived. Barely.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

“…”

He doesn’t know what to do.

Cassian isn’t just a man of few words. He’s a man of zero words when it comes to emotional conflict.

So when you go cold—when your body shifts slightly away, when your eyes don’t meet his—he notices immediately.

It hits him like a blow. He feels it in the air.

And he panics. Internally. But outside, he’s just still.

He brings you small things. Your favorite candy on the counter. A neatly folded blanket on your side of the couch. No words. Just… presence.

He’ll sit nearby but not touch you. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

Eventually, he hands you a note. Folded. With his childish, naive handwriting:

“I did not mean to hurt you. Please tell me how to fix it.”

When you do finally speak, even if it’s angry or tearful or sharp—he listens. Soaks it in. His head bowed, his expression focused, like every syllable is precious.

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t justify. Just nods with teary eyes.

And later that night, he says it for real. Quiet. Low.

“…sorry.”

Cassian doesn’t need words to show he loves you—but when he does speak, he means it with his entire soul.

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

Terry’s first thought when you start giving him the cold shoulder is: “Oh god. Not again.”

Because he’s used to things going wrong. He’s used to messing things up. He has that subconscious fear that everything good in his life is temporary, especially you.

So when you stop responding to his texts, or start leaving the room when he walks in, he goes into lowkey panic mode—but tries to play it cool.

He’ll hover. Try to act casual. Lean on your doorway like he isn’t dying inside.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod.

“…Right. That’s convincing.”

He won’t push. He’s too scared you’ll say it’s over.

But one night, he shows up at your place in the Batsuit. Mask off, hair a mess, eyes tired.

“You don’t have to forgive me right away. But just tell me what I did. Please.”

There’s a vulnerability in Terry that breaks your heart. Once you finally talk, he holds your face like you’re glass.

“I’ll fix it. I swear to God, I’ll fix it.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[oddlylovingaddiction]

; Coming Full Circle

Part 1: Here , Part 2 (You’re here), Part 3: Here , Part 4: Here

Sorry that it took so long everyone, I’m close to graduation now and I’ve been busy, however I hope this is good!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…) Reader is also bit emotional because of pregnancy hormones.

TW: Past abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Pregnancy, Arguments

The Garden was warm, you could almost relax and drink your tea peacefully.

Keyword being almost. Because unfortunately you were surrounded and being interrogated by some of your siblings. Dick, Tim, Cassandra, Jason and Damian.

“Who’s your husband?” Cassandra asks curiously. You really didn’t want to tell them anything but it’s clear if you ignore them, Tim the cyber stalker will just drag it up.

“I’d like to keep my private life—.” You go to reply but Damian interrupts, “I bet you the husband is made up.” and for some reason Jason nods along. Ever since yesterday Damian has stuck by you, anywhere you go in the mansion he’s somehow lurking behind you or around you in general. You’re not sure why especially since when you woke up he had gone.

“He is real.” You scoff your face bunching up in annoyance. “Oh yeah then why isn’t he here with you right now then?” Jason questions clearly not believing you like Damian. “… we had a small fight.” You reply slowly, concern blooming on all of their faces. It feels you with a mixed feeling… happy that finally some people in your family are concerned and also annoyed because they have no damn right to look at you like that. “I thought you said it was a disagreement?” Damian argued.

“It was on his end… but I suppose it was more of a fight on mine.” You mumble embarrassed, leaning your head on your hand to cover your mouth.

“What was the fight over?” Cassandra asks and you wince. You realllyyyyy didn’t want to answer that but you don’t want them to think of the worst scenario about you and your husband.

“It… was over the colour of the nursery walls…” You whisper-mumble closing your eyes shut. “Huh?” Tim replies.

“It was over the colour of the nursery walls…” you say still whispering but not mumbling anymore. “Can you speak up? I don’t think any of us caught that.” Dick adds.

“IT WAS OVER THE COLOUR OF THE NURSERY WALLS OKAY?!” You burst out standing up quickly as you slam your hands on the table.

Everyone goes silent as you sink back into your chair hands over your face embarrassed. “That’s it? Are you serious??” Jason grunted clearly he thinks you’re insane for choosing to stay with family over the colour of some walls. And you admit “it does sound ridiculous but in my head at the time it was a lot bigger of a deal…” you feel so embarrassed.

Surprisingly Damian pats your shoulder gently while you’re slouched over, “I support you and your future divorce. Because if he can’t let you pick the wall colour then what else will he do? His lover is pregnant, he should give in.” He advises which just makes you even more embarrassed because you can’t believe you’re being comforted by a kid. Cassandra also leans in and pats you on the back as well, at this point you’re wondering if you could just bury yourself in a hole.

“This is so stupid…” Jason mutters, “Why…” Tim adds and you can hear Dick trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “Pregnancy hormones.” You can hear Cassandra whisper-mouths as a reply to Tim.

“You guys don’t have to comfort me, I know it’s dumb.” You say finally looking up at them all as Cassandra and Damian retract their hands. “If you know just go back.” Jason frowns before Dick elbows him in the ribs. “I would but it just feels too embarrassing…” you sigh. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with people a phew years ago probably wouldn’t notice if you were dead. “Is that it?” Tim probes, he knows that there’s got to be more than you’re letting onto, which there is.

“And… because I can’t help but be worried… what if this is the first fight before it gets worse? If we are arguing now what will happen when the baby is here? What if he doesn’t love me anymore because of this?” You confess. Your husband is the closet to you and you can’t bear to imagine losing or fighting with.

“It was just one argument if he doesn’t still love you over and chooses to fight with you more, then just kill him.” Jason stated to which earned a bunch of glares from the table, minus Damian who shrugged in agreement.

“Don’t listen to Jason just divorce him if he does that.” Cassandra proposes clearly uncomfortable with the talk of murder. You laugh softly. You choose to just hum in acknowledgment of their words, a small knot tying in your heart. It feels like your head is full of lead, everything right now going on with your husband and being around your family again it’s all too much.

“I think I’m just going to go relax…” you say picking up your purse. But instead of going towards the front door you go to the nearest car. “Wait!? Where are you going?!” Dick calls after you confused as everyone stands up and follows behind you confused.

“Retail therapy.” You grin as you turn around to smile at them.

You didn’t expect them to follow you. But perhaps you should’ve. You also should’ve stayed with your husband instead of coming back to the manor.

You shake your head trying to refocus on shopping and not focus on all the things overwhelming you right now..

You immediately spot your favourite store, it was a department store that had everything from food to clothes to the strangest items you’ve ever seen in your life. The last time you went you saw a statue of Abraham Lincoln in drag, a smut book of the current president and his political opponent and a dress covered in buttons.

“What is this.” Damian pointed at the store. The store had a sort of rundown look that immediately you probably wouldn’t go in now however since you’ve been here since you were just a bored teen who used to explore Gotham without a care in the world. “A store.” You say bluntly as you walk past them and head in, not bothering to explain anymore. Of course you’re not free of them yet since they also go in with you.

The store inside is similar to a warehouse inside, the only thing separating it from being an actual warehouse is the decoration on the floors and ceilings. You decide to peak at the clothing isle first, they usually have some cute baby clothes.

It seems they have continued to follow you, Dick grabs two shirts and checks their price tags before looking at you confused, “why is everything so cheap?” He frowns. You scowl right back in reply, “Because I’m basically their only customer, Richard.” You flip your head back around and walk off determined to get to the kids section. You knew a Dick wasn’t trying to attack you personally but you loved this damn store and you wouldn’t let anyone ruin that for you.

Two items in the baby’s section stood out and you could decide which one to buy. One was a onesie, it looked liked it was based off of that one popular kid’s book caterpillar and the other being watermelon overalls. Whatever you’ll just get both. After all your kid should be well dressed and have a bunch of different choices. As you held the clothing, it felt weird to hold up such tiny articles of clothing, to know you’ll have to give birth to a little life makes you all nervous and emotional. You can feel a small lump in your throat forming, you pull out your phone and check the messages from your husband. You usually did that when you were feeling emotional it helped you calm down. You forgot that you were currently ignoring him so when you opened up the messages you just felt even worse.

New messages from: My Superhero ❤️💍

“My love, please. I’m sorry we can do your choice okay?”

“I know you’re upset but I have checked almost every hotel and they say you aren’t staying with any of them.”

“The love of my life you are very pregnant, hormonal and quite frankly a little tiny bit insane. I’m worried about you.”

Okay the insane bit was unnecessary and lowkey pissed you off all over again. You had to pull yourself out of the baby clothing section and your phone otherwise you’d end up just buying everything and calling your husband to yell at him for that line. Instead you choose to loiter around the kids section instead. Never hurts to prepare yourself for the future of the kid after all. It also seems Cassandra, Tim, Jason, Dick and Damian finally caught up to you.

“What are you looking at? Do you have another kid we don’t know about because none of those will fit right now.” Jason points out and you roll your eyes. “Just looking.” You reply. Then you suddenly glance at Damian and get a wicked idea. You think Damian suddenly got the chills because he looked up at you and realized your plan. You think the others had the same idea because they all shared the same acknowledging look.

Every outfit you, Cass and Dick picked were really cute on Damian, from little Tuxedos to everyday wear that just made him look so adorable despite his protests. While Tim’s and Jason’s were straight hilarious, Jason picked out at one point a giraffe onesie and Damian practically launched himself at Jason. The only reason he tried it on is because everyone begged him to. Through the entire process Damian scowled and complained. However he still did it anyways, Maybe he liked the attention on him. He is a kid after all.

This time Damian walks out in the last outfit you picked for him.

You really don’t know why you started to cry. Or why you ran to Damian and held him in your arms. Hell you can’t really remember a lot that happened after that, you just remember everyone looking concerned, especially Damian as he looked up at you panicked. Then you remember falling asleep in the car ride home.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Operation Lonely Lion

summary: the first year's misguided attempt to get the two loneliest people on campus together type of post: fic includes: leona (romantic) ace, deuce, jack, epel, and sebek (platonic) additional info: reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

You haven't smiled in days.

You were back in Ramshackle, snug under piles of blankets, warm by the fire, a mug of your favorite hot drink in hand, and you pouted. You moped. You sighed.

You were downright miserable.

"D'you think it's the cold?" Deuce asks, closing the front door delicately, as if the sound might disturb you.

Ace scoffs. "Don't be dense. They've been acting like this since Azul's overblot,"

"Then that's it?"

Ace sticks his hands in his pockets and the two start their long, snowy walk back to the mirror chamber.

"Three overblots in..." Deuce counts on his fingers. "...Four months takes a toll on you."

"You and I know the Prefect better than anyone, and I don't think that's what's causing... this," Ace says.

"Hey, you two!"

Ace and Deuce tense on instinct, taught and upright, shoulders back and stiff like soldiers. But it's only Jack, not their housewarden, jogging to keep up with them in the cold.

"What're you doing out here so late?" he pants, winded from the snow and the ten shopping bags he's carrying on each arm and in each hand.

Ace rolls his eyes, and Deuce replies. "Visiting the Prefect. They've been weird lately... What're all those?"

"Hm?" Jack glances at the bags on his arms, as if he'd forgotten they were there. "Meat."

"Meat?"

"Yeah. Leona's been grumpy all week, and it's stressing Ruggie out, so he's having me run for groceries,"

"In this weather?" Ace grumbles.

Jack ignores him. "You say the Prefect is weird? Are they sick? I could run back to Sam's for medicine,"

"No, not sick. Just..." Deuce says. "Moping around, lying on the floor, sighing all the time."

Jack's ears prick up. The wind howls, blowing bittercold snow over them. It's late in the day, but the three boys suddenly seem more awake than before.

"...Same thing with Leona. I mean, he's always kind of like that, but it's been worse ever since..."

Deuce's eyes widen. "...Ever since the Prefect moved out of his room and back to Ramshackle,"

The wind settles, and the snow with it. Ace sputters, shaking the white stuff off his shoulders.

"That's it? They miss each other?"

Jack scratches the back of his head. "I couldn't imagine living in Ramshackle all alone. No one for company but Grim and ghosts..."

An eerie silence. Ace scoffs. Deuce watches his boots as they crunch the compact snow underfoot. Jack awkwardly adjusts his bags of beef.

Finally, Ace sighs. "Are we all having the same stupid idea?"

First Objective: The Setup

"I hope you guys don't mind, but I brought someone,"

Jack's silhouette casts a shadow over the wobbly, three-legged table Deuce had dragged from the curb, which Ace is decorating with tea lights from their dorm.

"...Uh," Ace says. "Dude, there's no one there. If this is your weird way of saying you wanna take over decorating, you can just ask. I'm not exactly an expert."

"Eh?" Jack jolts. "Oh! I'm in the way."

Ace rolls his eyes as the tall beastman steps aside, leaving a smaller, less scary boy in his place.

"Howdy!" he chimes.

"This is Epel. He's in my class. He's real good with food."

Epel smiles. "Aw, shucks. I just know my way around a barbeque, 'thas all. And anything to get outta dinner with my dorm. Now, 'les see..."

Ace and Deuce step aside, letting Epel have a look at the mountain of meat behind them.

"...Yup," he nods. "I could whip up a good Harveston-style barbeque with this in no time- oh, I'll haveta get some apples from my dorm for the-"

"On it," Jack barks, tearing out of the building as if it were on fire.

Then it's just the three of them, though Epel is already mumbling about spices and marinades under his breath, holding the thawing meat as if it were made of gold.

Weird. Ace looks at Deuce. "Someone's gonna have to get Grim outta the way. The second he hears dinner, he'll come scratching at the door like he's been starved,"

"And Ruggie," Deuce mumbles. "We'll need something that will distract them both..."

Ace smirks. "Leave that to me,"

Second Objective: The Distraction

Ace whistles a merry tune as he slides a plate of doughnuts under a box propped up with a stick, the words "FREE" scribbled on the cardboard in black ink.

Third Objective: The Secret

The smell of spices and cinnamon makes the dim, dirty botanical gardens almost serene. Epel whistles while he works, slicing apples with a precision that's almost superhuman.

Deuce had awkwardly thrown a few empty sacks of seed together, making a tablecloth, and Ace had dragged a few folding chairs out of school storage (may Crewel have mercy on their souls).

Bunsen burners make for good cooking, and Epel was nearly done with the main course.

"...Now, how're we gonna convince those two to come out here?" Ace asks, dusting the last of the dirt off the chairs. "The Prefect'll be easy, but Leona..."

"HALT! WHO GOES THERE!"

Deuce jumps. Epel nearly drops his knife into the open flame. Ace groans. "Please, Sevens, not him,"

Sebek throws open the doors of the gardens, letting a gust of cold winter wind inside. "Ne'er-do-wells! Just as my knightly senses had suspected! State your purpose at once!"

Ace sighs. "Sebek-"

"I shall have your conspiracy turned over to the Headmage- breaking curfew, stealing supplies, and- c-cooking-? What are you making?"

"This? Apples baked in cinnamon, and-" Epel is hushed by a hissing Ace.

"Don't tell him anything. He's a narc,"

"YOUR INSULTS WON'T SAVE YOU FROM A SWIFT AND JUST PUNISHMENT!"

"S-Sebek, wait!" Deuce says. "This isn't what it looks like. We're just... we're trying to... we..."

Sebek's slitted eyes narrow at the meager setup. The broken table, the planter plates, the Bunsen burner barbeque...

"Hmph. I see," he says. The others tense, even the wind seems to wait and listen, and-

"You've arranged a romantic rendezvous for forbidden lovers! Worry not, your secret is safe with me!"

Ace and Deuce both give each other a look. Jack scratches the back of his head. Even Epel is confused.

"How'dya know all that?"

"Hm," Sebek smirks, crossing his arms. "Any fool with eyes and an intimate knowledge of the Briar Valley court rules from six hundred years ago could deduce as much. I was just reading of this sort of affair between a count and a kitchen maid, in which-"

"Alright, alright! Just promise not to tell," Ace sighs.

"As I said, your secret is safe with me. Now, how may I be of service?"

Fourth Objective: The Invitations

"We're going to need a good excuse," Deuce says, pacing. "The Prefect will be easy. But Leona-"

"-Will question every damn thing until 'ya give him a straight answer," Epel sighs. "He's like that at Spelldrive practice, too."

Sebek finishes lighting the last of the tealights, an unexpectedly delicate task for him, and thinks.

"I will retrieve the Prefect. I elect Jack Howl to retrieve Kingscholar- the disrespectful human- as a member of his dorm,"

Jack scratches the back of his neck, glancing awkwardly at the glass ceiling. "I dunno, it's not like he'd treat me any different than the rest of you, but... eh... wait, I've got it. I know what'll get him here for sure! Let's go,"

Sebek is swifter, bursting into Ramshackle with the ardor of a battle cry.

"PREFECT, YOU MUST FOLLOW ME AT ONCE! YOUR DIREBEAST HAS BECOME STUCK INSIDE A FLASK IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS!"

You pale. "Oh, no, not again!"

Jack walks to Savanaclaw, knocks before coming into Leona's room, and talks with feigned worry.

"Leona, come quick! Vil tripped on one of the sleeves of his dorm uniform like you always say he's going to, and he fell and-"

Leona shoots up straight in bed. "Where?"

"-In the botanical gardens, and-"

The Housewarden is already putting on his shoes, smiling like he just won something. "Face-first? In the dirt?"

"...Uh, sure, but- aren't you worried-"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, it's a real tragedy," he stands, making sure his phone camera is ready.

"Lead the way."

Fifth Objective: The Date

"We really didn't think this one through, huh?"

Ace grumbles, watching you and Leona walk towards the botanical garden from different directions. Deuce glances at him.

"No music, no entertainment, no warning, no-"

"Well, we got plenty 'a food, so quit your whining and help me plate these!" Epel shouts.

Ace and Deuce wince. "Man, he can be scary when he wants to,"

The glass doors of the gardens swing open, and Leona and you nearly walk right into each other. You stumble, almost into the dirt, but Leona catches you by the arm.

"Ah- Leona?"

"Herbivore?"

"Sssuuurpriiiise...." Ace says, forcing a weak smile.

You and Leona both look at him, then at the ugly table, then at Epel, still crouched over the burner on the floor.

And then...

"Heh. Haha, hahahaha!"

You both burst into laughter, losing your balance and tumbling into the grass and dirt. Ace and Deuce stand over you, waiting for you to breathe again.

"...It's not that funny," Ace mutters.

Leona stands first, and then pulls you to your feet like a proper gentleman. He dusts the dirt off his pants.

"You froshes are really something else. This is all for us?"

Deuce nods. "We thought-" but Ace slaps a hand over his mouth and smiles. "Just... go with it?"

...And you do.

For all of two hours preparation, the date is surprisingly fancy... in... its own way. The food is good, the seating is comfortable, and Sebek even recites his favorite poetry in place of music.

At least you're smiling again. That counts as a success for the first years.

And at the end of it, even Leona looks pleased.

"You kids don't know when to give up, I'll give you that," he grins. "But I'm still gonna kill all of you for this tomorrow."

They laugh awkwardly.

The End

After handing your unfinished food to the drooling first-years, you clear your throat.

"So, Grim's not... really stuck in a flask, is he? That was a lie to get me here?"

They shake their heads, and you sigh. "Can never be too sure... where is he, anyway?"

"Probably in a box outside," Ace says without thinking, and Epel smacks him upside the head.

"What?"

Deuce sighs. "See... the thing is, Ace had this thought..."

Your eyes widen as he explains, and you stand, going straight for the door. Leona and the first years follow.

"Come on!" Leona yells after you. "There's no way anyone would actually fall for such a stupid-"

You pull the aforementioned box off the ground, and Ruggie and Grim are curled up beneath it, both covered in icing, jam, and sugar, snoozing away.

You all sigh, and Leona smirks.

"Seems like someone had an even better time than us,"

[sunflowerwinds]

wine & dine | s.a

summary: sevika has been working at your father’s auto-body shop for the past two years and has never given you the time of day. valentine’s rolls around and she finally lets out what she’s been holding in from the moment you two met.

pairing: sevika arcane x fem!reader

contains: modern!au, dad’s bestfriend! sevika (not really, more like coworker), age gap (reader is 22 and sevika is 39), alcohol consumption (they’re both slightly tipsy but both conscious enough for consent), sevika has no prosthetic, sevika is kind of a loser but we love it, smut: whiny!sevika, fingering (r!recieving), oral (r! receiving), r!squirting for the first time, aftercare!! (it’s important). (18+ —MINORS & MEN DO NOT TRY IT.), reader grows more confident with sevika!

word count: 6.3K

a/n: ENJOYYYY<3 a treat for you guys! happy (very late) valentine’s to my single angels bc yall deserve love too! art creds: @anodeorain!!! (SPECIAL THANKS TO @atomicami FOR READING THIS OVER TO MAKE SURE IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH TO POST. ily cami girl <3)

You were twenty when you were first introduced to Sevika.

Your father owned an auto body shop and she was a new hire. Most days, you would sit in his office when you were off your shift at your place of work – a local Tea House – and do your online classwork. None of the men ever dared to bother you considering how protective he was over you so you had headphones in your ears to block out any mechanical sounds and to give yourself some peace as you worked hard to get your assignments done, taking sips of your boba tea that you had taken with you.

The door opened as you were in the middle of sipping your drink as you were met with her. Your eyes bulged out of your head at the sight of a 6'1, olive skinned, deliciously ripped and slightly glistening woman stepping into the carpeted office. Her upper body was clung with an oil and sweat stained white wife pleaser and low-rise work jeans with a chunky black belt holding them up.

You suck in a quick breath to try and act like you were unfazed by it but had forgotten you had the thick straw from your tea in your mom. A few tapioca balls shot into the back of your throat causing you to choke and cough loudly. The woman’s grey eyes widened at the sound of your gargled noises as she rushed around the table to pat your upper back.

You tried to ignore how large her palm was on your body and attempted to take another sip of your drink, lifting the straw up a bit so that you wouldn’t get any more tapioca.

“You okay?” She asks you softly, the rumble in your deeper voice sending a chill down your spine.

Fuck, you had thought to yourself. Her voice just matches how fucking hot she is.

“Fine,” you were able to cough out, trying to suppress them. “Choked on my, uh, drink.”

The woman chuckled lowly at you, shaking her head before standing upright once again.

“I’ve never seen you before,” she stated as she folds her large toned forearms across her oil stained wife pleaser. “What’s your name?”

You uttered your name to her as you stared up at her, loving the angle you were getting from where you were sitting. The second your name left your lips, her eyes widened in a way that gave away she had heard about you from your father or the other employees. You quickly asked for hers out of courtesy to try and distract her from it but it was useless.

“Sevika. You mean you’re–”

“Yeah, big boss’s daughter,” you tilted your head up at her with a playful smile. “Did you need something?”

Sevika had blinked down at you before nodding hesitantly as she had forgotten the whole reason she had come into the office.

“I just needed to grab my water from the fridge,” she said with certainty as she made her way over to the large black coated refrigerator and tugged the door open.

When she had turned her back to you to bend over to search for her reusable steel water bottle, you silently thanked your dad for finally hiring probably one of the sexiest women you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You pretended to tend to your school work on your laptop as she stood back up, twisting open the lid and tilting it up to allow the water to flow down her throat.

You mindlessly typed as you watched and savored the sight of a few droplets leaving the sides of her mouth as she chugged the ice-cold water. Her shirt lifted ever so slightly to tease you with her v-line and faint happy trail. You felt like a man seeing ankles for the first time in the early 1900s.

After that day, you started showing up alot more to the shop. Your father questioned the schedule change but simply told him that you were able to ‘focus’ in his office.

This went on for two years. Two damn years of you coming to the shop to study and Sevika had only given you a few glances and gentle check ups on you when she went in the office. Normal and professional conversation and you were tired of it.

Tired of pretending like you weren’t desperate for her attention, for her. You tried to distract yourself from the yearning and had a few flings. They were… nice as that but in the back of your mind, she lingered. Maybe she wasn’t into younger women. You knew she had to be at least ten years older than you so that could be a factor in her not even giving you a second thought.

Or so you’d thought.

Valentine’s Day had rolled around and you had zero plans. Your best friend was out of town with their girlfriend so your plans were pretty much shot. You decided that you might as well get some work done at the shop like usual. At first you had lied about you focusing better on your father but now you actually can’t seem to mentally lock in on your school work anywhere else.

It was pretty empty as you passed through the garage. You could hear some gears turning and clanking so you peaked around to see who was there. Just your luck, it was Sevika.

Great. She made you feel more single than ever on this day.

You tried to speed past her in hopes she wouldn’t notice you but to your surprise, she called out your name. You stop in your tracks at her voice, sighing to yourself as you turn your head so that you are facing her.

Her brows were set in a furrow as she wiped off her rust ridden palms, looking you up and down with confusion.

“Just came to do school work, Sevika. Don’t mind me,” you raise your palm to wave her off. “You can go back to… whatever you’re doing.”

You guess your tone gave away your bad attitude as she sighs, throwing the towel over her bare shoulder and making her around the truck. You tense up as you adjust the strap to your book bag, now aware she could see all of you.

“What’s up, angel? Hmm?” Sevika leans back on the maroon, rusted door.

“Nothing.”

You ignore the heat that’s itching at your cheeks at her nickname for you. It was rare when she pulled that one out considering how little conversation the two of you shared.

“Nothing. Today is– it’s not my day,” you explain.

Her expression softens as she looks behind her at the calendar that was hanging amongst the tools on that wall. It’s Valentine’s Day, Sevika thought to herself.

“Why isn’t your day?” She wonders aloud.

You sigh as you shake your head, wanting to crawl into yourself to avoid this conversation.

“I don’t know. Just even more of a reminder I don’t have… what other people have.”

And that I could be spending this day with you but the universe decided to birth me out fifteen years too late, you think to yourself.

Sevika is silent after those words leave your mouth, shame flooding your veins. You scoff as you adjust the strap of your bag to start making your way into the office but Sevika’s voice calls out to you once again.

“Do you want to come over to mine tonight?”

You froze.

What?

As you turn around on your heels and inch closer to her, eager for an answer: “To do…?”

Sevika chuckles as she leans into you with a smile, her lips two inches from your own. “Valentine’s dinner. I’m a great cook, angel.”

You really were confused now. Why was she offering you this? Was this a pity dinner?

“Why?”

She sighs at your tone and lifts a hand to cup your face, a rough thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. With any one else you would’ve flinched away and refused but even with how much you hated her for never giving you the time of day before, your body aches for this. For her touch.

“I don’t like knowing you, of all people, are going to be alone on this day. Let me do this for you, okay?”

You of all people. You despised how much that made you want to shove her against the car and kiss her until she was breathless. You stupidly blush at her words, failing to hide how flustered she made you.

“Okay, fine. What’s the dress code?”

Sevika can’t help but have her lips twitch up into an amused grin, releasing your face in the process.

“No dress code. Come in whatever you feel comfortable in, angel.” She reassures you, nodding as she throws her rag over her shoulder. “Give me your number and I’ll text it to you.”

You blink at her as you realized how in all these two years of knowing her you hadn’t had a good enough reason to have her phone number. You reach into your bag to rip a piece of paper from one of your notebooks and grab a loose pen that was sitting at the bottom to scribble down your number and hand it to her.

“What time should I be there?” You wonder, fiddling with your backpack.

Sevika hums as she checks her watch on her wrist. “It’s 3 right now. I’m almost done here with my truck. 8:30 okay with you?”

You nod, unable to comprehend how this was your reality right now.

“Y-Yeah. That’s good. I’ll leave you to your… handy work,” you try and joke but your awkwardness deceives you.

Sevika thankfully grins at your attempt and shakes her head fondly, motioning to the office.

“Be good and do your work, yeah?”

Your face lit aflame once again, nodding before walking away without another word.

How the hell were you going to survive dinner?

You left the shop only an hour later after you had heard the large garage doors shut. Once you had gotten home, you passed by your dad in the kitchen eating some lunch. He told you that he and your mother were going to dinner and would be late so that you could order in or if you had wanted anything from wherever they were going to eat.

You almost told him you had dinner plans as well but you didn’t want to risk more prying questions so you merely wished them a good night and dinner before scurrying up to your room. You dug through your closet to find something; anything that would be dinner worthy at Sevika’s place.

For the next three hours, you carefully picked out the right dress, the right makeup, shoes, jewelry, purse, panties for fucks sake. Your parents had thankfully left already so they wouldn’t press you as to why you were all ‘done up’.

The whole drive to Sevika’s house was a mental rollercoaster. Talking yourself into not causing five accidents by swerving into a u-turn back home or cancelling out of fear that you’ll be unbearably awkward. Every worst possible outcome you could have imagined flashed into your mind but you scolded yourself into taking a deep breath.

She asked you to dinner, you told yourself. On the most ‘romantic’ day of the year.

It had to mean something.

When you approached the house, you could see if you squinted, Sevika’s figure moving through the orange light through the curtains of the home. It was a small, cozy home. Nothing too crazy or expensive but homey.

Your fiddle with your necklace as you ring the doorbell, sucking in a deep breath as you listen to the heavy footsteps approaching the door. The clicks of the locks send an anxious chill down your spine as the hinges creak open.

Sevika looked perfect. She had on a black button up tucked into a pair of the same shade of slacks, a thick belt holding them up. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows and the top two buttons were left undone to show just the smallest bit of skin. Her hair was tied up in it’s usual half-up, half-down that you’ve seen but she just made it work.

“Hi,” she says softly, a gentle smile on her face. “Come in.”

You couldn’t tell if you were a puddle on the floor or if it was just your insides that had turned to mush. Your fingers tighten on your small velvet purse as you finally open your mouth.

“Hi.”

You take a step into the home and are immediately hit with the smell of marinara sauce and garlic. Your eyes dart from the worn in living room couch to the little bit of decor on the shelves before they land on Sevika who was lingering near the now-shut front door. Her gray eyes meet yours as she motions towards your dress with her large palm.

“You are beautiful, angel.”

You look down at your dress, too, admiring the black lace pattern over the garnet red silk. Your eyes meet hers once again as you take a step forward, daring for her to reach for you.

“Thank you. You are beautiful, Sevika.”

Her eyes seem to soften at your words, shining in a way that you’ve never seen before. Was she… flustered? After she muttered a shy ‘thank you’, her gaze darted to behind you as she motioned a hand to the rather cute set up of a dinner.

A small unscented candle was lit in the middle between two plates of a slice of lasagna and a smaller round plate with a garlic knot resting on it. It looked like restaurant grade food. You could even hear a soft tune of jazz lowly playing throughout the home.

“Sevika, this is so sweet,” you express as you approach the table.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Sevika’s heavy footsteps follow after you, reaching for the chair across from hers. She tugs the seat out and motions for you to sit.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease as you slide into the space and sit yourself down in the old wooden chair with a vintage flower cushion tied to the bottom.

The obvious tension in the air was killing you. It was clear neither of you knew how to start up a conversation so you took the reins as you picked up your fork and shoved it into the layered pasta.

“What was wrong with your truck?” You wince afterwards at the blandness of the question.

Sevika rounded the table after she scooted your chair in. She sits herself down across from you, picking up her own utensils.

“Oh, nothing too terrible. The brake pads needed to be replaced,” she shook her head to wave off your concern. “Did you finish your school wor—“

“Why did you ask me to dinner, Sevika?”

You didn’t mean to cut her off but this has been itching at you since it happened. Sure, she gave you a vague answer at the shop but you didn’t want vague bullshit. You’ve only been eating for a few minutes and the unknown was killing you.

“Honestly?” Sevika questions as she takes a bite of her lasagna, seeming all too calm for your liking.

You suck in a deep breath as you huff out a soft: “Please.”

“I’ve wanted to do this,” she motioned to the air between the two of you with her fork as she explained herself, “since we first met. Your dad and I have a good bond and I didn’t think he would approve of me of all people to take out his daughter, especially seeing how he acts when the other fuckin’ pricks at the shop even try to mention you in front of him.”

That made sense. You take another bite of the food, heat spreading from the base of your neck to the tips of your ears.

“Since we first met?” You question with a giddy grin.

Sevika playfully rolls her beautiful gray eyes at the fact that out of everything, that was the detail you were focused on.

“You’re ridiculous. Yes.”

“So what made you want to ask me now?” Your tone was more light and playful, feeling a lot more assured with this.

Sevika’s dark lips twitch into a small grin, shrugging her broad shoulders.

“I thought when you walked into the shop today that I would finally fuckin’ get over myself and just saying something to let you know I feel but I kind of got lucky it being Valentine’s and you not having plans so I took a chance. Thankfully, you said ‘yes’.”

Thankfully indeed, you thought to yourself.

“This is amazing, by the way. I can’t cook for the life of me.” You point to the warm lasagna, the flavors lingering on your tongue.

Sevika shakes her head with a low whistle at your confession. “22 and you can’t cook, angel?”

Your face heats up at her teasing, opening your mouth as you let out a soft gasp.

“I’m… working on it, okay? Plus, if all things go well tonight, I won’t have to anymore,” you hum as you tilt your head at her, testing the waters.

You watch her every movement as Sevika grabs her glass of wine to take a sip. The way her throat bobbed as she allowed the liquid to trickle down.

“Is that so?” She hums into her glass before setting it back down with a soft clink.

“If that’s okay with you,” you grin innocently.

Sevika’s eyes flicker down to your lips as you take your turn to try the wine. It was a sweeter white wine, the burn of the alcohol washing down your throat.

“More than okay,” she quietly admits as she continues to dig into the lasagna.

A large glass of sweet white wine and the hefty carb-filled meal later, you two talking quietly amongst one another on the couch. Well, okay, Sevika was talking while you were tilting your head as you eye-fucked her at the distance you’ve been craving for the past two years. Watching her dark lips move as she tells you something you were supposed to be listening to but god, you couldn’t focus on anything else but her lips.

The jagged, light scar that on the left side of her lip drove you wild. Maybe it was the wine or the few years of yearning but you were growing needier by the second. The soft hum and rasp of her voice was merely adding to the fire.

“Angel?”

She calls to you, confusion laced in her tone. You blink to focus and sit up from your slouched position, cursing internally at how you let your mind wander.

“Hmm? Yeah?” You hum, a smitten smile growing on your lips.

Her large palm reaches over to rest on her exposed thigh from the slit of your dress folding over, her thumb rubbing over the skin to try and ease you. Your eyes flicker down from her pinky to her thumb, breath hitching at how much of your thigh she was covering.

“Are you tired? You can sleep here. I don’t want you driving after you’ve had something to drink.”

You hold back your scoff as you shake your head as you look back up at her, sucking in a deep breath as you carefully scoot in closer to her. It wasn’t something you did often but it seemed like subtlety wasn’t working with her.

“I’m not tired, Vika,” you whisper, eyes darting down to her lips as you raise one hand to rest on her upper abdomen.

Sevika’s grip tightens on your skin, her breathing quickening at your hand placement. You could feel her stomach flex causing an excitement that you haven’t felt in a long time to rush to your head.

The air around you two was heavy, the both of you hesitant to take what you want. You internally frown when you feel Sevika’s heavy hand remove itself from your thigh. She twiddles with the fabric of the skirt of your dress, avoiding your gaze as she blatantly stares at your lips as her chest rises and falls at a faster speed now.

Fuck it.

You begin to lean into her, moving your hand slowly up her torso to rest on the open area at the top of her chest. Your hand rests at her collarbone as you tilt your head to the side as you press your lips onto hers. Sevika, as anxious as she was appearing, followed your movements in an instant. Her hand that had been tugging at your dress was now cupping the side of your neck, thumbing at your jaw.

You force back your giddy grin as you pull away to ghost your lips over hers, letting out a shaky breath as you make her chase you. Sevika’s hand moves back down to your crossed legs, gripping your thigh with need as she whines.

She fucking whimpers against your lips as she mutters your name. Not ‘angel’ but your name.

You hum at the sound, moving your hands to her shoulders as you throw legs over her lap to straddle her. Sevika hands fly to your waist as you attach your lips once again, running her hands up your body. Her tongue brushes over your bottom lip as your hips grind down on her.

She pants against you, pulling away from your wet lips to look down at her lap at your plush thighs to curse underneath her breath. The sight alone could have her cumming untouched.

“Vika, can we move to your bed? Please?”

Your neediness was obvious as your hands ran down her body, feeling the ridges of her sculpted body that you wanted to so desperately see. Your fingers reach up to her button-up, unhooking a single button as you lean down to kiss at her neck to inhale the perfume and light cigar scent clinging to her skin. “Need you.”

Sevika’s hands grip at your body and press you into her, a shiver running down her back as you nibble on her skin.

She breathes out as her eyes shut at your teeth grazing over the mark you sucked onto her sickness. “Yeah, baby. Come on.”

As she stands up, she hooks her strong forearms underneath your thighs so that your legs could wrap around her hips as she carries you to her bedroom. You couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you were here at her house, going to her room so that you could fuck her.

“You smell good,” you hum as you snuggle your face into the crook of her neck, wrapping your arms around her neck.

Sevika chuckles underneath her breath at your dazed words as she places a kiss to your scalp as she kicks her door open with her foot, the golden knob tapping the wall with a soft thump. She carefully sets you down on the comforter with a soft grunt.

You look up at her from the bed, eyes blown with lust as you wait for her next move.

“If you want to stop at any moment,” Sevika cups the side of your face, a feeling you’ve grown quite fond of. “You tell me immediately, okay?”

“Sevika, I trust you,” you reassure her softly, sucking in a deep breath. “But I will. I promise.”

Sevika seems to relax a bit more now after you have assured her.

“Good. Now, lay back for me, baby.”

You do as you told and scoot back a bit more up the mattress, your dress bunching up at your hips. Sevika seems to notice how it was bothering you, taking the fabric into her hands gently. You make eye contact with her and nod to signal it was okay for her to take it off of you.

Sevika tugs it up to reveal your deep red panties, a wet maroon patch in the front. You would’ve been a lot more embarrassed but hearing Sevika muttering curses once the dress is off of you and hitting the hardwood floor of her bedroom, your confidence shot through the roof.

Your tits were exposed as you didn’t enjoy wearing bras with dresses like this so here you were, borderline naked on Sevika’s bed. God, you would have laughed in someone’s face if anyone told you you’d be here within two years of meeting Sevika.

“You are perfect, angel.”

Sevika kneels down on her bed, her eyes following over every inch of your skin as if you were a painting. To be admired, not touched. You mutter a soft ‘thank you’ at the compliment, feeling a heat prickle at your underarms.

“You can touch me, you know,” you tease.

This seems to bring Sevika back to the task at hand, nodding with a gentle ‘sorry’ leaving her lips. You shake your head as you were more than flattered that she thought you were beautiful enough to stare at. She leans down to kiss you slowly, pushing you back down onto the bed.

Her knee was pressing into your clothed cunt, the pressure directly being placed onto your aching clit. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling, your hands gripping onto her strong shoulders. Your hips roll a bit to chase the pleasure.

“Needy girl,” she hums against your lips.

She pulls away to trail her lips down your body. Each kiss that was left had you leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering as she moved to your nipples. Your bottom lip catches in between your teeth as she cups your left and runs her tongue over your right. She sucks on the sensitive bud, running her hot tongue over the pebbled skin.

You watch her with no shame, not even daring wanting to look away at the fucking wet dream that was happening in front of you. You could see a spit string glistening on your nipple to her panting lips due to the dim lighting of the room. She adjusts herself so that she can move to the other nipple, pressing her knee onto your cunt once again.

“Vika,” you whine out, begging for her to move further down your body to where you needed her most.

Sevika looks up from your chest, pupils blown to the point where the gray of her eyes was a small ring.

“Tell me.”

You grind into her knee as a response, hoping she would get the hint that you wanted more than just her mouth on your tits. Sevika looks down at your desperate grinding on her knee as your hands run down her back, tugging on the fabric of her black button up.

Sevika pulls away, licking up whatever leftover saliva was on your tits before unbuttoning her shirt. You help her as you start from the bottom, meeting her in the middle as her sculpted body reveals itself to you. You had been teased with the idea from the bottom of Sevika’s shirts lifting when she would stretch or reach for a tool on a higher shelf at your fathers shop but this? Seeing every defined ab and little light scars on her stomach. Your imagination couldn’t compare to the real thing.

You throw her shirt in the direction of your dress, eyeing every ridge of her stomach. She had on a simple black sports bra hugging her tits to her body. As you were checking her out, Sevika was running her hands down yours as she landed right at the waistband of your panties.

She looks up at you as her fingers hook underneath the lace, waiting for your approval. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips up in assistance. Sevika tugs them down, letting out a soft groan at the sight of your slick that collected on the front of your underwear.

Your cunt was wet and fluttering, awaiting for any kind relief. Sevika moves down the bed to lay down on her stomach as she hooks her arms around your thighs to tug you closer to her. You yelp quietly as her slight manhandling of you but is quickly replaced by a moan. Without warning, she sticks her tongue out to drag across your entrance once to get your attention.

Being the absolute tease she was, Sevika kisses right over your clit before trailing her lips to your inner thighs. Irritated, you clamp your thighs on either side of her face, raising your brows down at her. She sighs and tsks, easily gripping your legs to force them back open.

You really were underestimating how strong she was.

“Be patient, angel. I want your thighs on my head when I’m eating this pretty pussy, yeah? Can you do that for me?” She places one more soft kiss on your inner thigh.

All you could muster was a whiny ‘yeah’ in response to her question. She hums, satisfied enough with your answer before delving back into where you needed her most.

Sevika laps her greedy tongue over the dripping entrance of your pussy, hooded eyes watching your body convulse. You moan out as she uses her fingers to spread your lips open to watch your cunt clench hungrily.

“You taste so fucking perfect. Can’t believe I had to wait so long to taste you, angel,” she nearly whines before sucking on your pussy lips.

Her eager licks to your cunt drew you close to your first orgasm, legs clamping on either side of her head. Your hands slip into her hair, entangling in her black strands. Sevika is relentless with her tongue, not letting up until she can taste you cumming.

Your stomach tightens as you ride her arched nose as it hits your clit just right. Your moans change higher in pitch as you could feel your orgasm about to rip through you. You came embarrassingly fast, shivering and gripping onto her hair as her tongue laps up your cum leaking from your cunt.

“Fuck, oh my god,” you whimper as she wraps her arms around your thighs to tug you closer to help you ride out your orgasm.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, shuddering when you feel Sevika places a lingering kiss to your clit. She releases your legs to pull her head from your pussy, the top of her head frizzy from your hands and her flyaways clinging to her forehead from the sweat.

“What the fuck?” You pant, a hand resting over your eyes.

Sevika softly chuckles at your words, gently massaging one of your thighs with her free hand. You shiver as you feel one other thick and long fingers tease at your entrance. You buck your hips to urge her to put it inside of you. Sevika hums from above you as she steadily inserts her middle finger.

“You gonna give one more, baby?” She questions as she licks her lips to collect what was left of your slick on her mouth.

You sit up slightly to reach for her neck to pull her down to be face to face with you. Sevika’s lips lock with yours, humming softly as her hand that wasn’t fucking you cups the side of your head. You could taste the lingering cum on her lips as you kiss her softly.

“One more,” you whisper against her lips, pulling away to rest your forehead on hers.

“Just one more, angel,” she whispers back, attentively watching your face to make sure you weren’t hesitating and not telling her.

But all she could see was how blown out your eyes were as you grind your hips weakly on her fingers.

The lewd sound of the squelch of you taking her finger made her smile against your temple. You hum as you feel her leisurely slide her ring finger next to the pointer, soft pants leaving your mouth. Your body was hot all over, sweat gathering above your top lip, the back of your neck and the crook of your hips.

Sevika began to pump her fingers in and out of you, watching the way your pussy lips began to puff up and lather in a mixture of her spit and your slick. She couldn’t get enough of you, wanting to make you see stars from her fingers alone.

You were already out of it; in a daze that boosted her ego.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this, angel,” she praises as she leans down to kiss your cheek.

“Feel pretty,” you hum, gasping when Sevika’s fingers curl inside of you.

Sevika captures your lips once again as she picks up the pace of her fingers, moaning into your mouth when she feels your gummy walls clenching down on her. You throw your head back at the relentless thrusts, exposing your neck for Sevika to mark up. She wasn’t a big hickey person but watching you let out the prettiest and whiniest moans, all she wanted to do was make sure everyone who would see you the next day that you were hers.

Her lips latch onto the length of your neck, sucking and licking on the skin.

“Right there, baby. O-Oh fuck,” you whine out, not realising the pet name had left your lips.

This encouraged Sevika’s movements. Someone would have to fucking kill her to stop making you come undone like this.

“Yeah?” She places a sloppy kiss to your jaw with a hum.

You shudder as she curls her fingers to hit your g-spot, abusing it with a hungry persistence.

“Y-Yeah.”

Your whole body had basically become jelly in her palms, overwhelmed by the way she was handling you. Borderline pornagraphic moans left your lips as she wouldn’t let up. You think you would start crying if she did, the pleasure already becoming an addictive feeling. You knew at that moment she had ruined you for anyone else; that nothing would be as good as her.

Again, that familiar feeling settled in your lower abdomen. You were going to cum again but it felt… different; more intense than the one before. Your hand flew to her wrist that was fucking into you, not trying to stop her but confused about how the fuck was she doing that.

“Sevika, I-I’m gonna–” Pee?

“I can feel it, angel. Just let go for me. Relax.”

You release her wrist as you let yourself fall back onto the mattress, leaning back onto your forearms. Sevika continues to fuck into you, watching as your puffy cunt began to squirt your cum all over her forearm, even some splashing on her lower stomach. The orgasm shocked up your spine as broken moans leave your mouth, unable to speak to voice your confusion. Your hips buck to chase the most overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had.

The obscene sight in front of Sevika made her smile to herself, looking down at her squirt-glistening stomach and arm.

“I never…” You trail off as you suck in a deep breath, trying to sit up but the weight of your exhaustion pulls you right back down.

Sevika’s eyes flicker to your shaking inner thighs and the embarrassment in your eyes and it hits her.

“Angel, you’ve never squirted before?” She questions gently.

You shake your head as you blink slowly, your eyelids becoming heavier by the second.

Sevika carefully removes her fingers from your cunt, shushing you with a ‘I know, baby’. You reach for her with weak arms, sighing in relief when she holds you close to her and maneuvers the two of you to avoid the wet spot on the bed.

“I think you killed me,” you mutter into her chest.

“Well, stay alive for a little bit longer. I’m gonna run a bath for you.”

You didn’t realize how sticky you felt until she mentioned the bath. The mix of fluids on your body made you frown until you remember what had just happened. You fucked Sevika.

Well, she fucked you. Better than you’ve ever experienced from the weak and careless attempts you’ve had before her.

“I’m sorry about your sheets,” you wince at the sight of the damp area that you can see out of the corner of your eye.

Sevika shakes her head as she rubs a hand over your naked back to help steady your breathing.

“Don’t be. It felt good, right?” Sevika looks down at you with a teasing grin.

You scoff at her words. “I just said ‘I think you killed me’. What do you think?”

Sevika leans down to peck your lips a few times, mumbling ‘just making sure’ onto your lips. The two of you lay there on her bed for you couldn’t even remember for how long as the rest of the night was a blissful blur. She carried you to the bathroom to sit on the toilet to make sure you pee so that you don’t get an infection and ran you a bath.

The bath helped your sticky feeling. Sevika joined you not too long after you did because well, you had asked her nicely. Lavender-scented bubbles engulfed the two of you, the warm water easing your aching bodies. With your back against her naked chest, you push out a question.

“Are we… dating?”

Sevika was tracing your arm that was resting on the white ceramic of the tub, resting her cheek on the top of your head. There was a mean voice in the back of her head calling her ridiculous to think you would want to be with her; but she ignores it for now.

“We can be. I wouldn’t mind this with you,” she hums as she picks up your hand to hold carefully.

Sevika didn’t specify what ‘this’ was but you hoped it meant more bubble baths and sweet dates. Oh and the endless amount of orgasms.

“Yeah, I want this too,” you grin down at your intertwined fingers. A haunting thought took over your brain, knowing you’d have to mention it at some point. “What about my dad?”

Sevika’s body tenses for a moment but she relaxes the moment you snuggle more into her.

“Well, we can keep it between us for now. Tell him when we feel ready.” Sevika assures you as she runs her thumb over the back of your soap-coated hand.

Between us, your mind echoed. You were okay with that.

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @vii-v @savedforlaterr @jiungmcvv @theuclid @luvrmunson @dumcurlyhead @sevikasrightboob @sapphiellar @auraclus @her-gayness @starmaniii @vinxernica @seriouschaosshrimp @amenazaaaa @femininefables @genderfluidlesbain999 @val3ntinswrrld @elliessgfsstuff @iluvwomensm @chaosisclassy @razziematazz @555aturn @graciedollie @vintage-karma @skhv67 @eyelinerfemme @sevikasllver @girlbossuser @acclaaa @lambilegs @pavelyasz @lulumania @applekittypie @darylswifeeyy @belldonic @vangoes @hell0-ki55y @shookkatofthat @mqrzie @sexysapphicshopowner @cstbdf @iristhemuse @sevikasshimmerstrap @tojibestslut @abbysunderwear @sevi-kas01 @paigesbabymama @themostlesbianever @wh1smyk1tten @danimp3 @somos-things @slut4sevika @berntderse @skaireso @aliluvszs @55vies (TAGS CONT IN COMMENTS!)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Soft Spot

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Alpine is determined to gain access to your room while you are resting.

Warnings: Bucky’s conversation with a cat lol; Bucky being jealous of a cat; fluff; feelings; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: I just needed to write a little something and this came out. Hope you enjoy! Also, I probably will be posting the next chapter of like a Phoenix tomorrow. This is a part of a series with a loose timeline, but you can also read this as a stand alone. Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Nah, Alp, c’mon now.”

Bucky sets his mug of tea down on the kitchen counter with a quiet clink - he never used to drink tea before moving in with you, but living with you changed that.

The little white kitten Bucky and you adopted from the shelter a few months ago paws insistently at your bedroom door, tiny claws scratching against the wood. She lets out a sharp, impatient mewl.

Bucky sighs, before striding over to her hurriedly and scooping the little ball of fluff into his arms before she can make more of a racket.

“Alpine,” he warns, almost too firmly considering he is talking to a cat. “Cut it out, yeah? You’re gonna wake her up.”

The kitten wiggles in his hold, clearly unimpressed. She meows again. Loud. Indignant. Bucky huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and scratching her behind her ear.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, glancing at the closed door to your room. “Ya miss her. But she’s had a rough couple weeks, alright? Stress n' exams, you know, the whole damn deal. She needs the rest. Can’t have you climbin’ all over her like the little menace you are.”

Alpine stares at him with those big blue eyes, as if she understands every word but refuses to accept the reasoning. Another sharp meow, this time more of a protest.

Bucky sighs dramatically, shifting her into one arm and rubbing her chin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t gimme that look. I ain’t the bad guy here, buddy. Just tryna let her sleep.”

Alpine doesn’t seem to hear a word.

Before Bucky can react, the little furball twists her tiny body and slips right out of his grasp, landing softly on the floor.

In an instant, she is back at your bedroom door, paws crawling, tail flicking, and meowing like she is under torture.

Bucky groans quietly, dragging his hand down his face. “Jesus.” He crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees as he watches her.

He reaches out, rubbing slow and soothing circles on her soft white fur. “You just wanna be near her, huh, girl?” His voice is softer now. He sighs, deep and heavy, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I get that.”

Because Alpine loves you. She doesn’t hide it - follows you everywhere, curls up in your lap, meows until you give her attention. She’s got no hesitation when it comes to showing how much she adores you.

And that is what Bucky envies.

Because Bucky loves you too. He just can’t show his affection that outright. He’s your best friend. Your roommate. And that’s the part that stings.

He would do anything for being able to show you how much he adores you without crossing the line he is afraid to.

His chest tightens long enough for him to really feel the ache and he stands up, exhaling through his nose with a resigned breath.

“Alright, you little punk,” he mutters, shaking his head as Alpine turns those blue eyes back up to him. Expectant.

Slowly, he reaches for the door handle, giving the kitten another warning glare. “Just for a quick visit, yeah? No bouncin’ on her. No wakin’ her up, got it?”

Alpine meows.

Bucky huffs, pushing the door open carefully.

The small cat whooshes past Bucky the second the door cracks open, a blur of white fur darting straight for your bed. He barely stops himself from calling out, biting back a curse as he runs a frustrated hand down his face.

Damn cat’s got a one-track mind.

But he can’t really blame her. You’re on his mind probably even more often.

He steps inside, deliberately avoiding the creaky floorboards. He’s been in your room often enough to have memorized them by now.

Alpine reaches your face and bumps her small head against yours with a high chirp before rubbing along your cheek.

You don’t stir in your sleep.

Curled up on your side toward the direction of the door, hands tucked near your face, you’re completely dead to the world, your breaths slow and even.

Bucky guesses the stress from the last weeks must have finally caught up to you because you don’t even twitch when Alpine starts licking at your fingers.

“Alpine,” he whisper-yells, stepping closer, ready to scoop the little cat up and drag her outside before she wakes you.

But Alpine starts to circle, once, then again, before settling right against your hip, tucking herself into a comfortable little ball. She lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Bucky stops in his tracks, hands on his hips, shaking his head with an amused smirk on his lips.

“You’ve got no idea how jealous you’re makin’ me right now, Alp.”

Something tugs and turns in his chest, watching the way you sleep so peacefully, completely unaware of anything. Of how easy it is for Alpine to curl up against you and claim you like it’s the most natural thing to do.

He lets out a breath, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Alright,” he utters in a whisper. “Guess I’ll just stand here like an idiot while you get all the cuddles.”

Alpine flicks her tail.

Bucky stands there for a moment, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you.

The way your brows are at ease, your face soft and relaxed - peaceful and serene in a way he hasn’t seen in too damn long.

And oh how it calms something deep inside him.

The past few weeks had been brutal on you. It was a mess of late nights, long assignments, and that damn stubborn streak of yours keeping you from slowing down, no matter how many times he told you to.

You pushed yourself too hard - always do - and every time it drives him up the wall.

He hates seeing you stressed and he did what he could. Brought you tea, draped blankets over your shoulders when you were too caught up in your work to notice the chill. Left food by your side when he knew you’d forgotten to eat.

And you accepted it all - gave him those sweet little smiles accompanied by a thanks, Buck in that soft voice of yours that always knocks the wind out of him - but you never really listened.

Never listened when he told you that pushing past exhaustion isn’t the solution. That not having a clear head is worse than not being prepared at all.

But now you are finally resting.

For the first time in what feels like months, you are letting yourself breathe.

And Bucky feels like a weight is falling off his shoulders, a tension he was gripping finally loosening.

He exhales a deep, relieved sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

Alpine stirs slightly at your hip but stays balled up, her soft purring filling the room beside your deep breaths.

It’s then that Bucky notices the book half-tucked against your arm. You must have been reading before finally crashing, trying to quiet your mind enough to let yourself sleep.

He steps closer, cautiously, eyes flickering to your face to make sure you don’t wake up.

For a second, he worries it’s one of your damn textbooks - because if you fell asleep studying for god knows what now, he is going to have to give you some words.

But as he leans over you slightly, fingers brushing the covers and gently pulling it away from your arm, he lets out a pleased breath. Just a novel. Good.

He carefully marks the page, folds the book shut, and sets it on your nightstand.

Bucky straightens, and he knows he should walk back out - really, he should - but his eyes stay on you a little longer. He almost feels like some kinda creep just standing here, watching. But hell, he can’t help it.

You look so damn adorable with your little pout. So damn beautiful with your hair falling just so, features so soft, color in your cheeks.

His breath hitches unintentionally and his pulse skips, his heart only a trembling thing in his chest.

Taking in a deep breath, he takes a hold of your blanket and gradually tugs it up over your shoulders, up to your chin.

The fact that Alpine gets dragged along with it and the grumpy chirp she lets out gets ignored by him. She glares at him in annoyance but does not move from her spot.

“Mhm… Buck…?”

Your voice is thick with sleep, soft and drowsy, and it nearly knocks Bucky off balance. Literally. His foot catches on the floor and he stumbles slightly, heart lurching in his chest like the idiot he is.

His gaze snaps to your face. You blink up at him, slow and unfocused, brows scrunching in confusion. Eyes half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, your voice slurring slightly.

Jesus. You’re so damn cute like this.

Bucky clears his throat, forcing himself to school his expression. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he coos in a whisper, gentle and soothing. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He shoots Alpine a pointed look, but the cat, as usual, doesn’t seem to give a damn.

You shift slightly, nestling deeper into the sheets, eyes fluttering shut again. Without thinking, Bucky brushes his hand through your hair, over your cheek in slow and soothing motions to coax you back into sleep.

You hum in contentment. That little sound does something to him, settling deep within him.

And hell - if his heart doesn’t clench at the sight of you like this. So soft, so sweet, so damn beautiful it hurts.

A lightness swells beneath his ribs. An airy flutter dances.

He focuses on the way your breathing evens out, the way your body melts back into the bed.

And when he’s sure you’ve slipped under again, Bucky lets himself lean down, lips ghosting over your temple in the lightest of touches, giving you a soft kiss. He lingers just a second, long enough to whisper against your skin, voice barely more than a breath.

“Sleep tight, doll. You better dream of me.”

And with one last glance, so full of longing, he forces himself to pull away. He lets Alpine stay with you, despite the fact that he wants to be the one who gets to do that.

But he slips out of the room as quietly as he can, shutting the door behind him with a faint click. Leaving with you the racing of his heart you caused and the ache of something he isn’t sure he’ll ever have the guts to say out loud.

“Her, because she makes life poetry, she turns every bit of it into art.”

- butterflies rising

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 5 - Tangled Hearts

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

It’s been two days since the Never Have I Ever game stirred things up and the villa is finally back in its rhythm. Bonds are forming, friendships are solidifying and for some, feelings are getting harder to ignore.

This morning, the boys are hitting the gym, hyping each other up between sets, while the girls lounge by the pool, spilling tea and dissecting every look, touch and lingering moment from the past days while also splashing around. 

"Rafe, can I talk to you for a sec?" John B waits until Rafe finally drops his weights, breathing hard as he grabs a towel, wiping the sweat from his face and chest. He nods and follows John B toward the kitchen, both of them grabbing cold drinks. John B leans against the counter, settling onto one of the stools.

“I think I’ve got a problem.” He says casually, cracking open his drink. That catches Rafe’s attention. He drops into the seat beside him, brow raising. 

“You good, dude?” He asks and John B nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” He hesitates, gaze flicking toward the girls across the villa. “I think I like someone.” Rafe grins immediately, slapping John B on the back. 

“Oh, shit! Who’s the lucky one?” He pulls back, his grin faltering. 

“Don’t say-” “It’s not Y/N!” John B cuts in before Rafe can finish. He glances around, lowering his voice. 

“I think I like Sarah.” He reveals, making Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Sarah?” He asks and John B exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. 

“We’ve had these moments lately. Like, she gets my humor. And obviously, she’s gorgeous…but I don’t know. It just feels like something’s there.”

Rafe listens, nodding knowingly, as his gaze shifts toward the pool. His expression softens as he watches Y/N laugh loudly, trying and failing to pinch her nose before Maddy shoves her into the water. A splash erupts and she surfaces, coughing. Rafe chuckles under his breath before turning back to John B.

“Okay, so you’ve got a crush. Big deal.” He shrugs, cracking open his energy drink. John B shakes his head. 

“It’s complicated, man. You see how Topper looks at her. He’s smitten. And I have no idea how she feels. I could be reading this completely wrong.” He exclaims. Rafe leans back, tilting his head. 

“JB, man, just go for it.” Rafe says, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m sure Top will understand. And I mean…if anything goes wrong, there are still plenty of fish in the sea.” John B nods.

“Just-” “Not Y/N. Yeah, I know. Don't worry.” John B shakes his head. “Not my type, anyways.” 

Rafe glances back at the pool, where Y/N is now floating on her back, laughing as Maddy tries to dunk her again. His smirk lingers for a second before he looks back at John B. 

“Good.” He replies. “I mean, she's out of your league anyways.” John B chuckles at Rafe's comment and walks away.

“Sure, Cameron.” He shouts as he heads to the firepit where JJ and Pope are sat.

The villa glows under the bright sun, buzzing with low chatter and the occasional splash from the pool. Y/N leans back into Rafe, comfortably nestled between his legs at the edge, his arms loosely draped around her waist. He's absentmindedly tracing circles on her skin. Topper, Pope, Kiara and Sarah are spread out nearby, drinks in hand, the mood easy and relaxed.

“Hey, guys.” Kelce’s voice cuts through the warm air as he approaches. Everyone greets him cheerfully, motioning for him to join. Rafe's hands tighten slightly around Y/N's waist and she glances up at him before her eyes shift to Kelce.

“I...I actually wanted to talk to Y/N.” Kelce says, looking at her directly. “If you don't mind.”

She swallows and looks up at Rafe, who only shrugs. Her gaze returns to Kelce and after a short sigh, she untangles herself from Rafe’s arms. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Be right back.” She murmurs, before slipping out of the pool. Rafe watches her intently, eyes following the curve of her bikini-clad figure as she walks away with Kelce.

“Man, chill it with the staring.” Topper jokes.

“Shut up.” Rafe mutters, arms crossing over his chest.

Kelce and Y/N settle near the firepit, facing each other as she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head.

“Look, I…” Kelce begins, his voice uncertain as he fidgets with the mic cord. “This is…weird.” Y/N raises a brow, her arms folding as she sits back a little. 

“You're not wrong.” She mutters and he chuckles nervously. 

“Okay, good, so it’s not just me. Um…I know I was kind of a dick.” 

“Kind of?” She lets out a dry laugh. He winces, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Fine. I was a dick. A full one. Like, capital D.” He corrects himself. Y/N tries to hold back a smile, but it tugs at the corner of her mouth. 

“Better.” She adds. He nods slowly, then exhales, gaze flickering around before settling on her again. 

“It’s just…being here, seeing you again, it’s been…a lot. Like, I didn’t expect it to mess with my head this much. But it did.” He pauses, eyes dropping to the ground. 

“Our relationship meant something to me. And just ‘cause we broke up doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I did. I still do. And it hurt, Y/N. Like…a lot.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts in gently.

“Let me finish?”

She nods, watching him carefully.

“I want you to be happy.” He says, voice softer now. “With Rafe or whoever it is. That’s what matters. And I’m sorry for coming in here and acting like that. I guess I just…missed my best friend.”

Y/N exhales slowly, some of the tension in her shoulders melting.

“Kelce…it wasn’t easy for me either. Our breakup…it really messed with my head. I had to put myself back together after that. Learn how to trust again. Let people in.” She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she starts fidgeting with her ring. 

“So yeah, seeing you here? It was a total curveball. I didn’t know how to feel. Still kinda don’t.”

He smiles faintly, his tone lightening. 

“At least you didn’t throw a drink at me.” He says. “Yet.”

“It’s early.” She gives him a look. They both laugh and the tension finally starts to lift.

“I’m sorry if it sucks seeing me with someone else.” She says, more gently this time. “But Rafe…he’s good to me. He actually…he cares. A lot.”

“You're making me sound really awful right now.” He groans and Y/N laughs, reaching over to smack his arm. 

“You’re such a baby.” She exclaims and he grins, rubbing his arm. 

“I know. But seriously, I’m happy for you. I really am.” Then he hesitates, scratching the back of his head. “But, like...did you have to go with the fake orgasm thing?” He asks, making Y/N laugh, loud and unapologetic. 

“You were airing out all my embarrassing moments! I had to strike back somehow!” 

“Alright, alright. That’s fair.” He throws up his hands. “So…we good now? No more public humiliation?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Kelce opens his arms slightly, like he’s testing the waters. Y/N pauses for a beat, then steps forward and wraps her arms around him. It’s a little stiff at first, but then something softens and they both just stand there, holding on a little longer than expected.

“God, this is weird.” Kelce mumbles into her shoulder.

“You’re ruining the moment.” She mutters back.

And just like that, they laugh again.

It doesn’t fix everything, but it’s something.

Some time later, a loud ping echoes through the villa, causing everyone to turn toward the sound. Kelce, who’s now in the middle of a conversation with Maddy, grabs his phone with a grin.

“I got a text!” He announces, sitting up straight as the others look his way, with JJ stepping closer to the couch.

“Spit it out, man.” JJ urges. Kelce glances at the message, his eyes widening before he grins even wider.

“Islanders, tonight’s a big night. There will be a recoupling.” He begins.

“Holy shit!” Topper exclaims, earning a smack from Rafe.

“Kelce, you’ll have the chance to couple up with any girl of your choice. So, think carefully. #thechoiceisyours #makeitcount.” He finishes and a collective gasp rises from the group. 

Y/N sits on one of the kitchen stools, with Rafe behind her. Rafe tightens his arm around Y/N and she looks up at him.

“No need to worry.” She says quietly. “We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about him picking you.” Rafe replies confidently with a smirk. “I’m more concerned about what I’m going to say when I choose you.”

Y/N grins, raising an eyebrow.

“Better ‘make it count’.” She teases, quoting the text. He leans down to peck her lips.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have you back in my bed.” He murmurs, their lips almost touching. She chuckles softly before closing the gap again.

The girls are deep in glam mode. Curling wands heating up, makeup brushes flying, shimmer getting dusted on like fairy dust and absolute chaos over outfit choices.

“I talked to Kelce today.” Y/N says casually, wrapping a strand of hair around her curling iron.

“Everything cool?” Maddy asks, rummaging through the cabinet for a missing shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. We cleared the air. He said he’s happy for me, glad I’m moving on. Said he wants the best for me, that whole thing.” She shrugs and the girls nod along.

“That’s good.” Cleo says. “Always better to keep it civil in here.”

“Oh my god, where is it?” Maddy groans, making everyone laugh.

“Wait, is that the shoe John B wore?” Sarah squints at the one in Maddy’s hand.

“Why was John B wearing my heels?” Maddy deadpans and Sarah bursts out laughing. 

“He was trying to act like a girl, said he needed heels and I handed him those. You had to see it. It was iconic.”

“You and John B seem pretty close, Sar.” Kiara chimes in while brushing highlighter onto her cheekbones. 

“I second that.” Cleo adds, smirking.

“What? We’re just friends!” Sarah says, cheeks flushing pink as she finally finds the missing heel and tosses it to Maddy. “We’re just having fun.”

“Babe…” Cleo grins. “Gonna channel Ariana real quick, but…this is Love Island. No one’s here to ‘just have fun.’” The rest of the girls hum in agreement.

“So how’s it going with you and Topper, anyway?” Kiara asks, spinning around with an arched brow. Sarah flops down in her seat, letting out a sigh. 

“I mean…I don’t want to sound harsh, but-”

“There’s nothing there.” Cleo finishes for her. Everyone giggles. Sarah fidgets. 

“It’s still early. He’s sweet, he’s good-looking, I just…”

“Girl, stop lying to yourself.” Cleo interrupts. “You don’t like him. And that’s okay.” 

Sarah stares down at her nails. Y/N notices and reaches over, gently taking her hand.

“Hey. It’s totally valid to be unsure. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. We’ve got your back, alright?” Y/N reassures her and Sarah smiles softly. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, grabbing her eyeshadow palette to finish her look.

“Alright, new topic.” Y/N says, switching the vibe. “Who do you think Kelce is gonna couple up with?”

“I forgot about that!” Alyssa gasps.

“Honestly, I think he’s got his eye on Miss Maddy over there.” Kiara teases, pointing with her lip liner.

“Again, I second that.” Cleo adds with a smirk. Maddy rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t start.” She mutters.

“Oh please.” Kiara grins. “You know there’s something there.”

Maddy drops into her seat, struggling with the heel straps. 

“No comment. And Sarah, your boyfriend stretched these out.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Sarah calls back.

“Not yet!” Kiara and Cleo shout in unison, making everyone crack up.

“You guys are ridiculous.” Alyssa says, smiling as Cleo reaches over and kisses her cheek, leaving a lipstick mark.

“But you love us, Aly.” Cleo grins.

“I do. Unfortunately.” She says, wiping the mark off with a makeup wipe.

The room settles into a comfortable rhythm as the girls finish getting ready. But just as they’re about to head downstairs, they notice Y/N pacing, biting her lip and looking around frantically.

“You okay?” Sarah asks, slipping in her hoop earrings.

“I…yeah. I just-” Y/N throws open a drawer, rifling through her clothes. “I can’t find my ring.”

“The one you always wear?” Maddy asks, frowning.

“Yeah.” She sighs. “You guys can go ahead-”

“Uh-uh. We’re not leaving you.” Cleo cuts her off, turning back and searching through Y/N’s vanity. The others follow suit, checking drawers, makeup bags, under clothes, even their own stuff just in case.

After a few minutes, they all pause, exchanging defeated looks.

“Maybe it fell outside?” Alyssa suggests. Everyone nods, trying to stay optimistic.

“Hey, we’ll find it.” Maddy says, wrapping an arm around Y/N.

“Was it special?” Kiara asks gently.

“It was my grandpa’s. He made it for me.” Y/N swallows hard, glancing down at her bare finger. A pale ring mark lingers where it used to sit. 

“I’ve never taken it off.” She blinks and plasters on a smile. “Let’s just head downstairs.”

The girls nod, quiet but supportive, each silently determined to help her find it later.

Confessional - Y/N “We’re gonna find it. Wherever it is.” She nods slowly, more to herself than the camera. “We’re gonna find it.”

The sky fades into a dusky violet as night drapes over the villa, a cool hush settling across the space. Laughter hums through the air as the group lounge on the couches, drinks in hand and energy buzzing.

Rafe, JJ, John B, Sarah and Y/N sit together, scattered in relaxed positions, chuckling over something just said.

“So…” Sarah starts, swirling her drink. “How’s everyone feeling about tonight?”

The guys offer casual shrugs.

“I think one of us is a little more excited than the rest.” JJ says, nudging Rafe with a grin. The group laughs. Rafe smirks, a hand resting lightly on Y/N’s thigh.

“What can I say?” He shrugs with mock bravado.

Y/N gives a small, unreadable smile, her eyes scanning the group. 

“You don’t look too thrilled, Y/N/N.” JJ raises a brow, noticing her expression. All heads turn toward her. She blinks, caught off guard, mouth slightly open.

“No, no, no, I am! Totally.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Just tired, that’s all.” She lets out a well-timed yawn and melts deeper into the cushions.

The group chuckles and the conversation veers back to tonight’s drama, Kelce and his looming decision. But Rafe’s gaze lingers on Y/N.

“You sure you’re alright?” He murmurs, leaning in. She looks up and nods, offering a gentle smile. 

“Yeah. I swear.” She replies. He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes soft.

“If something’s on your mind…you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She replies, her smile widening as she reaches for his hand. She starts to fidget with his signet ring, twisting it absently. Rafe glances down at the gesture, about to say something.

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment, startling them both. He snaps his head up.

“Y/N was just telling me about that disaster of a drink you made her the other day.” Sarah says with a mischievous grin. Rafe groans and laughs. 

“Yeah, you don’t wanna try that.” 

“It was awful.” Y/N chimes in, grinning as she looks at Sarah.

“Hey.” Rafe protests. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It tasted like feet.” She deadpans. “I’m not even exaggerating.”

“How do you know what feet taste like?” JJ squints. John B claps a hand on JJ’s shoulder. 

“Just…don’t follow that thought, man.”

“Now I really wanna try it.” Sarah leans forward, eyes bright. Y/N widens her eyes. 

“Were you dropped as a baby? I just said it tasted like feet!” She exclaims.

“So?” Sarah shrugs, already getting up. “I’m curious!”

She grabs Rafe’s arm, tugging him off the couch.

“Borrowing him for a sec.” She announces, dragging him toward the kitchen as Y/N watches them go, still laughing.

“She’s insane.” Y/N mutters, grabbing her drink off the table as she watches Sarah disappear into the kitchen with Rafe.

“Yeah, she is.” John B replies under his breath. Then he pauses. “I mean, she’s not. She’s...totally sane. She’s just-”

“Dude, you’re glitching.” JJ cuts in, laughing. Y/N smirks and leans in toward the boys.

“You like her, don’t you?” She asks, dropping her voice just enough. John B doesn’t answer right away. He glances toward the kitchen where Sarah’s laughing with Rafe over some chaotic drink-mixing, then looks back at Y/N.

“Wait...did Rafe tell you?” He asks, suddenly suspicious.Y/N’s eyes go wide. 

“You told Rafe?” She asks, incredulous.

“Shit.” John B groans, rubbing his face. “I thought he told you or that he would!”

“Okay, okay, back up.” She says, holding up a hand. “That’s not even the point right now. The point is: you like Sarah.”

He takes a slow breath and JJ shakes his head with a grin.

“Man, it’s been obvious. You’ve been giving her heart eyes since day one.” JJ says.

“It’s not that simple.” John B mumbles. “She’s with Topper-”

“Who she has zero chemistry with.” JJ interrupts, then looks at Y/N. “What’s she told you?”

“I probably shouldn’t say.” Y/N hesitates, pursing her lips. 

“So she has said something!” JJ gasps, mock offended. Y/N laughs. 

“Not directly. But…she talks about you a lot. Like, a lot. And she blushes constantly when your name comes up. She hasn’t said the words, but I bet she likes you.”

John B looks back at the kitchen again, clearly overthinking.

“I think you should go for it.” Y/N adds gently.

“Go for it how? What does that even mean?” He asks, looking truly stressed.

“Well…” She says with a sly grin “We are about to have a recoupling…”

“You think I should pick her?” He asks, eyes wide.

“I think.” Y/N says, taking a sip of her drink. “When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.”

JJ freezes. 

“Oh my god.” He says slowly. “I just got that. Like, literally just now. Twenty-five years on this floating rock and it finally makes sense.”

Y/N and John B burst into laughter.

“Thanks, Y/N.” John B says with a grateful smile.

“Anytime, JB.” Y/N nods.

In the kitchen, Rafe grabs a glass and starts pulling random ingredients from the cabinets.

“I’m warning you now.” He says with a grin. “This drink is genuinely terrible.”

Before he can start pouring, Sarah reaches over and snatches the marshmallows out of his hand.

“Yeah, I don’t actually want the drink.” She says plainly. Rafe pauses, brows furrowing. 

“Wait…then why are we here?” He asks. She glances over her shoulder to Y/N, who is still on the couch with the boys, laughing.

“Something’s up with Y/N.” She says softly. Rafe stiffens, the smile slipping from his face. 

“What happened?” He asks, voice low, already bracing for the worst.

“No one hurt her.” Sarah assures quickly. “She just…lost her ring.”

“Her ring?” Rafe’s face twists in confusion. 

“Yeah. It meant a lot to her. Like, emotionally. She’s trying not to make a big deal, but I can tell it’s getting to her.”

He nods slowly, taking that in. 

“Right.” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “That explains why she was messing with mine earlier.”

Sarah points at the ring on his finger. 

“Exactly. So maybe don’t bring it up. Just…let her do her little fidget thing. I think it helps.” Sarah suggests. Rafe looks down at his hand, twisting the ring instinctively. 

“Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Sarah offers a small, approving nod. Then she glances back at the counter, squinting.

“Okay but seriously.” She says, wrinkling her nose. “What the fuck were you about to make with tequila, hot sauce, and marshmallows?”

Rafe laughs, grabbing the things to put them back. She grabs a White Claw from the fridge and cracks it open.

“Come on, cocktail genius. Let’s get back.”

They walk back toward the group, the sound of laughter echoing.

Soon enough, a loud ping suddenly echoes through the villa, cutting through the chatter. Kiara, lounging with Cleo and Pope, grabs her phone.

“Oh, fuck me.” She mutters, eyes wide. “I got a text!” She shouts, instantly grabbing everyone's attention.

“Can all Islanders gather around the fire pit? #decisiontime #nogoingbacknow.” She reads aloud. Climbing out of the beanbag, she helps Cleo up beside her. One by one, the Islanders make their way to the fire pit. The boys take their seats, while the girls line up opposite them, hands linked tightly in anticipation.

Another loud ping breaks the tension, this time from Kelce’s phone. He reads the screen.

“Kelce, since you are the newest Islander, you get first pick. #alotofhottiesinthevilla.” He exhales sharply, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Rising from the couch, he adjusts his mic and scans the line of girls.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because, from the moment I walked in, she caught my eye. She’s stunning and even in just a few conversations, I can tell we’ve got a lot in common. She's hilarious too and I’d really like to see where this could go. So, the girl I’d like to couple up with is…” He pauses, letting the silence hang.

“Maddy.”

Y/N gives Maddy’s clammy hand a reassuring squeeze. Maddy’s eyes go wide in surprise, flicking briefly to JJ, who’s sitting at the edge of the fire pit with a single eyebrow raised. The girls cheer and urge Maddy forward. She flashes them a nervous smile before stepping toward Kelce.

He holds out his hand and she takes it. They share a quick, tight hug before sitting down side by side.

“That was nerve-wracking.” Kelce whispers.

“Wait 'til you're on the other side.” Maddy replies with a soft laugh.

Next up is John B. He adjusts his Hawaiian shirt as he rises, his gaze settling on the fire flickering in front of him.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because...I feel like there’s something there, even if neither of us has really said it out loud yet.” He begins, voice a little shaky but sure. “She’s beautiful, she’s hilarious and she’s got this bright energy that lights up the villa. Always knows how to make us laugh.” He pauses, takes a breath. “So the girl I wanna couple up with is…Sarah.”

Sarah’s eyes go wide. Cleo squeals next to her.

“Knew it.” She whispers under her breath, making the girls around her laugh as Sarah gets to her feet and heads toward John B.

Topper’s jaw tightens as he watches them hug, a bitter scoff slipping out before he turns his attention away, eyes scanning the girls instead.

“He’s pissed.” Sarah murmurs to John B as they sit back down.

“Yup.” He says, still staring into the flames.

Confessional “Yeah, um…John B’s choice definitely got to me. I’m not gonna lie.” He glances off-camera, jaw tightening. “It bothered me.”

Then Pope stands, running a hand through his curls as he steps forward.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because ever since the public paired us together on day one, I’ve had the chance to really get to know her and she’s really amazing. And honestly, she’s just…really beautiful. I wanna keep learning more about her, seeing where this goes.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “So the girl I wanna couple up with is Kiara.”

Kiara offers a tight, polite smile as she walks toward him. He leans in and pecks her cheek, but her arms barely wrap around him.

“Thanks?” She whispers awkwardly before sitting beside him on the couch. 

Y/N shares a quick glance with Cleo, both of them catching the shift in tension.

Then Rafe stands, smirking as he rises to his full height.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because she’s…amazing.” His eyes lock on Y/N and her cheeks flush as she grins. “She’s sweet, she’s kind and she’s ridiculously gorgeous, inside and out. And to be honest, I’ve missed her hogging the blanket at night.”

Laughter breaks out around them, Y/N included.

“So, the girl I wanna couple up with is Y/N.”

Without missing a beat, Cleo nudges Y/N forward. She laughs, walking up to Rafe and slipping her hand into his. Her eyes flick up to meet his, then down to his lips and before anyone can blink, he leans in and kisses her softly, drawing her closer. The islanders erupt into cheers and teasing hollers. When they break apart and head to their seats, Y/N leans in. 

“Happy now?” She murmurs. Rafe nods, still grinning.

“Very happy.”

She chuckles, tucking herself into his side.

Topper stands up slowly, clearing his throat as his gaze settles on the fire.

“I didn't think things would go like this, but, uh…” He trails off for a moment, then continues. “I want to couple up with this girl because she’s really pretty. We’ve had a few good talks and I feel like she actually gets me. So…I’d like to couple up with Alyssa.”

He reaches out his hand as Alyssa makes her way over. He gives her a quick, gentle kiss on the cheek before they both sit down.

Last but not least, it’s JJ’s turn. He stands with a grin and lets out a small laugh.

“Okay, yeah…I didn’t think this would happen either. But I want to couple up with this girl because she’s hilarious and I feel like we have a similar energy.”

“No, we don’t.” Cleo cuts in dryly, sending everyone into laughter. JJ smirks. 

“She’s also really pretty. So yeah, I’m coupling up with Cleo.”

Cleo walks over but swerves dramatically when he leans in for a cheek kiss.

“Ew!” She yells, laughing and the rest of the group cracks up with her.

Confessional - Cleo “JJ? Really?” She raises her brows, full-on judging. She scoffs, then leans back with a dramatic shake of her head.

With the recoupling over, the islanders begin to scatter. Some settling into quiet corners to chat, others cozying up with their new matches. John B pulls Sarah aside to the daybed, both of them sinking into the cushions with a bit of hesitation.

“Look, I…how-how are you feeling?” He asks, stumbling over his words. Sarah fidgets with a pillow in her lap, her expression unreadable.

“Honestly? I’m okay.” She says after a pause. “I was actually talking to the girls about…this. Us. And John B, you’re really sweet. We’ve had some fun moments already. And I think that’s what this whole thing’s about. Trying stuff out, seeing what works. So I’m glad you took that risk.”

John B’s eyes widen, surprised. 

“Really? You mean that?” He asks and she nods, smiling.

“Okay. That’s…that’s good.” He lets out a breath, then leans in slightly. “Because I think I like you, Sarah. And I meant what I said back there. I do wanna see where this goes.”

She looks up at him, softer now. 

“I do too.” She replies. They share a quiet moment, the kind that doesn't need anything more.

Across the villa, Cleo and Y/N perch on kitchen stools, picking through a bowl of chips. Rafe and Pope lean casually on the other side of the counter, half-listening to their conversation.

“He’s a good guy.” Cleo says between bites. “I’m not saying he’s not. I just don’t think we really have anything in common.”

“You could give it a shot.” Y/N suggests, reaching for more chips. “You never know.”

Cleo shakes her head, grinning. 

“He reminds me of the kids I work with, I swear. There was this one boy, Tyler. Same blonde hair, blue eyes, same ridiculous jokes. Always confused about what I was saying.”

“That sounds exactly like JJ.” Rafe chimes in, making everyone laugh.

“Seriously.” Cleo continues. “He even had the same look on his face when he didn’t understand something.”

“Maybe give him a chance.” Pope offers. “And if it doesn’t click, someone else will come in and have your head spinning.”

“Yeah… true.” Cleo mutters, her eyes drifting toward Pope as he pours himself a drink. She stares a second too long.

Y/N snaps her fingers in front of Cleo’s face. 

“You good?” She asks. Cleo blinks, startled, then quickly looks down and takes a sip of her drink.

Pope, unaware, clears his throat. 

“Did you see how pissed Topper looked?”

The group shifts with a new wave of laughter and commentary as the night rolls on.

The rest of the night passes easily, with the islanders lounging around outside, talking, laughing, soaking in the last bit of warmth before slowly peeling off to head inside for some much-needed sleep.

Upstairs, the girls settle into their routine, wiping off makeup and changing into soft pajamas.

“Oh, hey, Kie?” Y/N says, glancing over as she dabs her face with a makeup wipe.

“Yeah?” Kiara responds, tugging on a pair of shorts.

“I noticed something earlier…when Pope picked you tonight, you kind of…hesitated.”

That grabs everyone’s attention. They all pause, waiting for her to go on. Cleo’s eyes widen. 

“True! And that hug? That was the most awkward hug I’ve ever seen.” She exclaims, making the girls laugh, but Kiara just lets out a sigh.

“Look, Pope’s a great guy.” She starts. Cleo snorts. 

“Yeah, that’s never a good sign.”

Laughter bubbles up again, softer this time. Kiara shrugs.

“I mean it. He’s smart, sweet, attractive…but I don’t know. It’s like there’s just no real spark. We don’t click. Every time we talk, it either feels forced or uncomfortable. And I don’t like that feeling.”

The girls nod, taking her in without judgment.

“Do you think you should talk to him? Maybe clear the air?” Y/N asks gently. Kiara hesitates, then shakes her head. 

“Not yet. I just need to figure out how to say it…without hurting him.”

The room quiets for a moment, everyone giving her the space to sit with it. Then, slowly, the night routine picks up again soft conversation, makeup wipes tossed, drawers closing. The kind of silence that comes with knowing not everything needs to be fixed right away.

The girls finally descend downstairs, taking their places on their beds, some familiar, some new.

“We are putting pillows between us and I don't want to hear a word.” Cleo announces, already shoving a pillow wall between her and JJ.

“Oh come on, Cleo. You don’t wanna cuddle with me?” JJ grins. Cleo groans while the rest of the room erupts into laughter.

Y/N smiles quietly, making her way over to Rafe in their bed. She sets her water bottle down, then practically launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso. He lets out a surprised yelp before chuckling and hugging her back just as tightly. She rests her chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“Hi.” She whispers.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He replies, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. His eyes drag over her like he's seeing her for the first time, soaking in the curve of her shoulders, the way her shorts ride up, the warm flush on her cheeks. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He gently nudges her back and pulls off his hoodie, handing it to her.

“What are you…Why are you giving me this?” She asks, eyeing the oversized Ralph Lauren hoodie in confusion.

“I want you to have it. I know you get cold at night.”

Her features soften, lips curling into a small pout as she leans in and kisses him.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He says simply. “And uh…Sarah told me.”

Her brows pinch together.

“Told you what?”

“About your ring.”

Her eyes immediately drop to the chain around his neck, her fingers instinctively reaching out to fidget with it.

“It’s whatever.” She mumbles nonchalantly.

“No, it’s not whatever.” He says, voice low and steady. “It means something to you. I’ll help you look for it tomorrow, alright?”

She shakes her head.

“No, Rafe. It’s okay.”

“I'm serious, Y/N. I’m gonna turn this whole damn villa upside down.” He says, unwavering. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

That gets her. She gives him a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

He nods as she pulls the hoodie over her head, adjusting her hair.

“How does it look?”

“Like it was made for you.” He says, eyes locked on her. She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder, laughing as she slides off his lap and under the covers. He follows, pulling her in close, her arms naturally curling around him. The lights go out and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night, Rafey.” She teases, but his smile breaks wider than expected.

“Don’t ever stop calling me that.” He says seriously.

She pauses, caught off guard by how much he means it.

“Okay.” She replies softly.

He leans down and kisses her slow, but deep, like he’s trying to memorize the way she tastes, the way she fits against him. There’s a pull between them, something warm and steady and when her thigh shifts over his hips, he lets out a quiet groan.

“Sorry.” She whispers, starting to pull back.

“Don’t be.” He mutters, voice low as his hand slides beneath the hem of his hoodie, smoothing over her waist. “It’s okay.”

She smiles softly, leaning in again. Her nose brushes his and her fingers trail lightly across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm.

“I just like being close to you.” She says, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flick down to her lips, then back up.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “Me too.”

They kiss again, slower this time and when it ends, she rests her forehead against his, both of them catching their breath in the hush of the room.

Rafe shifts beneath the covers, pulling her in tighter until her body fits snug against his. Their legs tangle, skin brushing skin and everything else fades, like the world outside them has softened.

She leans in again, lips finding his and after another long kiss, he gently presses her thigh a little lower. The motion earns another groan from him and he shifts slightly, adjusting himself with an embarrassed wince.

“Sorry…for that.” He mutters. Y/N giggles into his chest, her voice low and teasing.

“It’s okay.” She whispers with a smirk. “It’s kinda cute that you’re already, well, you know.”

He groans louder this time, burying his face in her neck, completely undone.

With his arms wrapped around her and her head tucked just below his chin, the chaos of the villa fades into the background.

to be continued...

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[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 i'll say a hundred and fourty times, | various hsr men x gender neutral reader reader

💌 — ; i think about you or something like that ! you remember your first date with your husband like it was yesterday, what exactly did they do to convince you that they were the one?

love mail — these vary in length cus bless my heart i js cant 💔 i picked the characters who are super popular on this account + mutuals faves so if urs isnt on here am sorry (ノ´Д｀)ノ posting this early hi i love u guys!!!! thank you for so much love and a platform to write as a other yr passes 4 me and i turn 17!!! this is actually so long im going BANANAS 🩷 proper post tmr ! (anaxa, mydei, phainon, caelus, dan heng, boothill, sampo, blade, ratio, jing yuan, gallagher, sunday in that order)

what anaxa had done to seal the deal was fairly simple; he asked for a second date. the professor had somewhat of a reputation, many saw him as a cold man, soulless when it comes to romance. but what you didn't know was that anaxa had been thinking about what to wear the night prior, something he saw as 'trivial' and 'not an important thing to consider'. or how your hand lingered a bit too long after he gave you your favorite coffee/tea/drink (his treat), little and seemingly insignificant details were becoming more and more important to him as the day of the date was building up, and he wasn't sure why.

it wasn't until after the long date—you grabbed his hand, told him that everything he arranged was perfect, and smiled at him so sweetly he was sure he'd wake up with a toothache. the gesture was unfamiliar yet not unwelcomed, it was then he realized that he didn't want to let this go, that he wanted this.. for the rest of his life.

and he got it <3 hooray!

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

what intrigued you about mydei was his idea of masculinity. it wasn't toxic, you were VERY relieved at that... he was surprisingly a very gentle man despite his intimidating appearance! his first date being at his place was a bit off putting, but he just wanted to bake you a fresh batch of cookies. he's halfway through the process when you suddenly ask; "what's your favorite thing?" it seems you've brought the crown prince of kremnos into a bit of thought, as he thought long and hard of what to answer. "butterflies, i like butterflies. i don't remember if i've ever seen one before i escaped the river of souls. they're beautiful.. delicate, something i'll never really get to be."

the night goes on and you've gotten close enough to lean on his shoulders while you sit on the couch, enjoying a series in silence with a plate of warm cookies on the coffee table. the lack of conversation isn't awkward, rather welcomed, then it was interrupted by what has been probably the sweetest thing ever told to you. "you uh.. remind me of a butterfly. you possess beauty that is.. otherworldly to me, you're someone i've never seen before and i'd be honored if you.. gave me some more time to bask in your existence. let me be gifted with your ethereal charm."

100% spent the night cuddling together, made you laugh at how nervous mydei was to hold you since he didn't wanna mess up 🙏

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

before real dates became a thing, phainon's FAAAVORITE excuse to spend one on one time with you was study dates. was there any actual studying going on? yes, but was phainon listening? absolutely not! how could he? not when you're trying your best to tutor him yet he still fails this one specific class (enrolled cause you were in it) despite your teaching.

you didn't mind the fact he kept coming to your door, he was your best friend before your 'student'. but it was getting to a point that if you explain a complicated concept one more time, only to see him staring at you and absolutely not listening you're about to pull his pretty blue hair off.

which you did tell him. hair ripping threat and all, and naturally the nameless hero—who dominates battlefields and comes out victorious, is quick to confess his true motive for these frequent visits to your dorm. he just likes looking at you when you're focused, passionately discussing your favorite topic from your favorite subject and he gets to be a part of that experience for you.

he wants to emphasize; he gets to be a PART of something greater that you're DEEPLY passionate about, and understand you more as a person. (when he should be understanding the class but wtv)

taking you out on a date-but-never-officially-called-that date as an apology, which worked in his favor. it turned out so good that you told him you wanted to go out again, which he was ecstatic about by the way!!! super gratful he almost failed that class if it meant you two got together 🩷

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

caelus is a big eater at heart, so of course it felt only right to take you out to a nice dinner, all on him! welt even got him a nice outfit to go along with it, very classy and formal.

and while you two ate, drank, and laughed the night away—caelus was quick to notice that you were getting full. you and him had chosen the same meal (he wanted to try to understand and adjust to your food palette in case of a second date), but you felt bad that you couldn't finish it with so much still on the plate.

the trailblazer, who had already bulldozed almost the entire meal, laughs at your frown. only to switch the meals around, where there was only a little left and he had the bigger portion. "don't want anything to go to waste, y'know?" he flashed that charming smile at you, and it made you chuckle. not for such a sweet gesture, which you really did appreciate, but he had a piece of leaf stuck in between his teeth. it gave off the whole charm he had, effortlessly kind and unintentionally funny. you liked that.. liked that a lot, actually. (enough to spend the rest of ur lives tgt <3)

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

for a portion of your childhood life, you found it hard to be heard. your voice was never loud enough to stand out from a crowd, and you felt ignored. that you weren't good enough to be listened to.

so going on a date was extremely nerve-wracking. you decided to make sure to never try to assert yourself too much in a conversation, just let them take the lead and not try to disturb with your 'uninteresting' input.

halfway through the date, holding hands and talking about your favorite place to visit-you are very quick to realize that you've taken up most of the conversation. and it isn't in a bad way either, since dan heng was adding his own little comments.. adding his ideas in the conversation. but he hasn't.. stopped you. he let you speak comfortably, let you be heard. "sorry, did i give you a weird look? i didn't mean to.. i just.. i really like listening to you. please don't ever stop talking."

your now husband loves to tell the people that said his quietness would never get him someone.. that he has a ring now and a very lovely spouse that has a matching one !

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

boothill doesn't usually have time for dates, always moving on the road and hopping around penacony. but when robin set him up with a good friend of hers, he didn't want to decline. the cowboy was quick to realize you were really cute and interesting, so he didn't mind taking a day off... until it wasn't a day off.. and had to handle a quick bounty a couple of hours before your date.

"don'tgetdistractedandthinkofthemdon'tgetdistractedandthinkofthemdon'tgetdistractedandthinkofthem" is what he repeats to himself before he gets distracted, imagines how you smiled at him yesterday and expressed how excited you were about the date.

got his shit rocked :-( but he still trudged his malfunctioning arm and scarred face to your place. "sorry." he strained a smile as he falls into your arms, grunting. "didn't mean to make ya wait. darlin'.. would never try to leave ya alone on such a pretty night."

his selflessness made your heart soften. he was so uncaring for his wounds, and he was even muttering that he was sorry for getting so much of his bleeding oil on your clothes. the date didn't end up pulling through, at least not properly. since you brought him in to care for him, and honestly just ended up to you flirting all night.

you're more than happy to have a real date when he's all fixed up.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

sampo had finally gotten one upped. HE got scammed by YOU in an exchange of information. it wasn't even anything out of harsh feelings, you had always been his informant, giving him what he needs for a good pay and go. but tonight, you decided to mess with him a bit. after receiving the money you charged to find whatever he needed on some random, you never sent it. left him waiting at his laptop and blinking at his camera, knowing damn well you were watching.

this became a normal thing, the back and fourth 'scams'. and soon your time together became less for a transaction, more just wanting to spend time with each other. which you told him from the very first day that you couldn't care less about anything as long as he had money (you didn't know his name till 3 months of working together).

so one night, expecting the usual "oops! sent it to the wrong number!" or "hehe, maybe i forgot a few zeroes and sent you like 5 coins!" you get an actual message.

"what a coincidence, i'm paying in full but it all went towards a restaurant near your place with the best table for two and your favorite food. it would really be a shame to let it go to waste.."

you agreed. and this went on long enough where one day his payment became a ring and a promise to love you forevermore.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

two stellaron hunters slowly growing to be interested in each other is a rather entertaining sight. kafka was quick to catch on, the lingering glances and subtle touches of affection that would slip the average persons gaze. what was unexpected-was blade's initiation of these gestures. how he'd have a protective stance over you during battle, despite your capabilities likely being on par with his. how he allows his hand to be taken into yours, treating his calloused hands gently after a long day of fighting with his sword, or even just the way he looks at you. it's soft, warm, with a hint of tenderness and admiration. despite his nonchalant face.

this becomes more obvious when he finally asks you out, and he's genuinely caring the whole time. he's interested in your discussions about life, entertains him when he asks you for any other details, and you don't make him feel alone. that's the most important thing. and he makes it clear how much he appreciates you with how he tucks your hair behind your ear, murmuring if he could have the blessing to kiss you. it isn't on the lips-he's not pushing his luck.. but just the cheek. it was something small, but for him? an absolutely huge step.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

the date with the ever so well known dr. veritas ratio had gone well enough that you agreed to go home with him. he was quick to clarify that this wasn't to sleep with him, he wasn't that kind of man to push something so early on in what he described to be: "a relationship that may be something greater than i could ever imagine" but instead to take care of you. it seemed as if you were exhausted from the travel during the date, and a nice bath would usually help.

nice bath was an understatement, the guy had scented candles, soft music, the right ratio from bubbles to water, snacks for you to enjoy and had a whole selection of books to choose from.

your fate was sealed the moment you walked into his bathroom because a man who can care for himself and still have the room to care for others is FOR SURE a keeper. even invited him to stay in the bath w u but he wanted to be respectful 🙏 (caved eventually)

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

jing yuan was the whole reason you got back into dating. after your first relationship fell apart, you found it hard to want to start things from scratch, learning favorite colors and life dreams all over again. but jing yuan swayed you, something that wasn't easy but he always makes sure to tell you he doesn't regret.

he was introduced to you through yanqing, your former apprentice before he was taken in by the cloud knights. he found out you and jing yuan were around the same age, so the blondie tested out his luck playing cupid <3 so even if it wasn't an immediate yes to his shenanigans, jing yuan started slowly. he could see you had walls and he wanted them to go down upon your own hearts decision, rather than bulldoze through them.

that care never went away. not even years later when he tears up at how far he's come, watching you walk down that aisle and knowing you're his forever.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

gallagher's wasn't even a first date. but you were on one, or supposed to be. till you got stood up and wanted to drink your worries away.

you've been in the bar from the very first hour it opened till now.. aka 3am. and the bartender himself was growing a little drowsy. but you were going strong, probably your 8th bottle of the night, which was starting to be a concern.

one of many, really. for one, gallagher was wondering who could ditch such a person. you clearly fixed yourself up nicely, your outfit was gorgeous and you were so friendly to him up until you realized you were stood up, and the pretty face that made his bar a little brighter went quiet. he couldn't have that.

by the time his shift ended, he slid a drink to you with a napkin. "take care of yourself, alright? come by tomorrow night, and you'll get yourself a real man to go on a date with."

he leaves and the napkin (cliche enough) has his number and name. "gallagher." you say to yourself, making a note in your drunken state to return same time tomorrow.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

sunday totally took you out with vip seats to robins concert. did he have to do a LIIIITTLE bit of pursuading to have robin hand over these tickets? no.. but she did tease him for finally catching a date after all this time! and as much as he is a big admirer for his sisters work, the whole concert he couldn't take his eyes off of you. how you effortlessly glowed in a sea of people, how your passion for something as simple as music could rival his dream for eternal rest to penacony. he has dreamed of you, he's sure of it. someone so carefree and kind, a soul opposite to his, yet perfectly fills the other half of his empty heart.

he wrote poetry about you, robin found it, turned it into a song and had to awkwardly explain why robin's song that she specifically clarified to be written about someone he liked included descriptions of your physical appearance and hints of your personality.

found it very sweet, and insisted your next date should be something more personal so you can learn more about him the way he's learned so much about you without even needing to talk to you to do so. (was just happy to go on a second date)

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[reidmarieprentiss]

Life With Spencer

Part Two

Summary: Living life with Spencer, ups, downs, firsts, and hopefully -- lasts.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: vomiting, food poisoning, talking about puking, smut (18+), sooo in love, awkward/real-life scenarios, visiting Diana, Derek being an instigator as always, no real timeline - they been dating for like two years…, this one is pretty smutty!!! and all the smut is Derek's fault so say thank you to Derek Morgan

Word count: 21.5k

a/n: y'all i was quickkkkkk wit it this time i am so obsessed with this idea and this spencer you have no idea,,, it is just flowing out of me like word vomit frrrrr and thank you all SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LOVE ON THE LAST ONE YOU GUYS KEEP ME GOING MUAH MUAH MUAH

main masterlist part one

It was a rare, sunny afternoon, and you were out in the world—something you didn’t always have the energy or time for, especially lately. But today had started slow and soft. Spencer had asked if you wanted to get breakfast with Penelope and Derek, and you’d agreed, mostly because he looked so hopeful when he asked and because Penelope always made you feel like a beloved member of a secret club.

The four of you had snagged a table at a small café tucked between bookstores and flower shops, the kind of place Spencer liked because the menu had locally sourced teas and the tables didn’t wobble.

He was waiting at the counter now, patiently awaiting collecting your drink orders, always double-checking them before passing them off—yours with coconut milk, Penelope’s with extra foam, Derek’s with exactly one sugar. Spencer Reid, your attentive, overthinking, wonderful boyfriend, was doing what he always did: quietly taking care of the people he loved.

And then it happened.

Derek, mid-laugh, glanced up toward the counter—and his smile froze. His eyebrows raised slightly. Then he leaned over to Penelope and nudged her arm with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

“PG. Look at that.”

Penelope turned, and you did too, instincts kicking in. And there she was.

A woman, maybe a few years older than you, statuesque and striking in a very deliberate way. Hair was perfectly blown out, posture was impossibly confident, and the toned arms on full display in a sleeveless top. She was leaning just a little too close to Spencer. Smiling a little too warmly.

You watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she said something that made Spencer glance up, polite and unaware. He smiled at her—your smile, the one that made your stomach flip when it was yours and yours alone—and nodded, clearly answering a question she’d asked. Then she touched his forearm. Lightly. Casually. Familiar in a way that made your blood stir.

You blinked.

And then it hit.

First—insecurity.

Because, yes, she was gorgeous. Her body was lean and graceful, her face radiant in that effortless, magazine-cover kind of way. She looked like someone who wore SPF, drank green juice, and knew how to contour. And you… well, you were you. You didn’t always remember to put on mascara, let alone exude that kind of practiced poise.

Then—jealousy.

That she would walk right up to your man as if he was available. As if his warm smile and gentle demeanor were an invitation to flirt, to try, to touch. As if you didn’t exist.

And then, surprisingly—pride.

Because, of course, someone would flirt with him. Have you seen him? Spencer was gorgeous. Tall, with soft eyes and messy hair and long, delicate fingers that fluttered when he talked about anything he loved. He radiated thoughtfulness. Of course, people noticed.

Finally—impressed.

You couldn’t even be mad at her confidence. The way she approached him without hesitation. That kind of boldness took guts. To see a man in public and think, Yes. Him, and then go for it? You almost wanted to applaud her. Almost.

Penelope leaned over and whispered, “Do you want me to cause a distraction? I could pretend to faint. Or drop a scone.”

You shook your head, lips curving into a slow smile. “No… let’s see how long it takes him to figure out what’s happening.”

Derek snorted. “You think he will? I’ve seen this man miss someone flirting with him while literally being given their phone number.”

Spencer turned, drink tray in hand, the woman still beside him, clearly not finished making her case.

But the moment his eyes found you—only you—his entire face softened. He smiled like he always did like he couldn’t believe he got to walk toward you.

And just like that, all the swirling feelings calmed.

Because she might’ve approached him, but Spencer? He was already yours.

“Okay, I have the drinks!” Spencer announced brightly, carefully balancing the cardboard tray in his hands as he approached the table. His voice carried that classic, slightly too-loud enthusiasm that meant he was proud of himself for not spilling anything on the walk over.

He looked so pleased with himself—so genuinely content to be bringing everyone exactly what they ordered—that for a second, you almost forgot the scene you’d just watched unfold at the counter.

Almost.

Penelope took her drink first with a wide, performative smile. “Oh, thank you, kind sir. What ever did we do to deserve such princely service?”

Spencer blinked. “Well, statistically speaking, I owed you both a drink since I didn’t pay last time, and Derek insisted on splitting that check evenly even though he ordered an extra—”

“—thank you, Spencer,” you interrupted gently, sliding your cup from the tray and brushing your fingers over his hand with a small smile. He looked at you, caught in mid-ramble, and paused.

There it was again—that softness. That barely concealed awe. Like just looking at you slowed his entire system down.

Derek, meanwhile, was eyeing him with one raised brow, sipping his coffee like he was trying very hard not to say something smart.

But Penelope? Penelope had no such restraint.

“So,” she said sweetly, far too sweetly, “did you make a new friend while you were up there?”

Spencer blinked. “What?”

Derek coughed pointedly. “Tall glass of water, blonde hair, caressing your arm?”

Spencer looked genuinely confused. “There was a woman next to me—she asked what kind of milk they used. I told her about the non-dairy options and suggested oat milk for a smoother foam. Why?”

Penelope let out a strangled little laugh and buried her face in her cup. Derek outright guffawed.

You just smiled. So wide and fond and helplessly in love.

Spencer looked around, increasingly suspicious. “Did… did she say something weird?”

“She was flirting with you, baby,” you said gently like you were explaining a very complex concept to a very sweet alien.

Spencer’s mouth fell open. “What? No, she wasn’t—she asked about milk—”

“She touched your arm, man!” Derek interrupted.

“She probably just wanted to know where to stand—”

“She flipped her hair,” Penelope added with wide eyes. “Three times!”

Spencer looked at you again, a little horrified. “You… did you notice that?”

You laughed softly, wrapping your hand around his. “Yes, Spencer. I noticed.”

Spencer blinked at you for a beat longer, cheeks going warm. “…Oh.”

You leaned closer, giving him a smug little smile. “It’s okay, lover. I like that you’re oblivious. Means I never have to worry.”

Penelope beamed. Derek groaned into his coffee.

Spencer, still a little stunned, just held your hand a little tighter. “I really did just think she was curious about milk…”

You kissed his cheek. “I know, Spence. I know.”

—

“Y/N?” Spencer asked softly, his voice warm and casual as if he’d been turning the thought over in his head for a while.

“Yeah, Spence?” you replied, eyes still focused on your laptop, adjusting the spacing on the final slide of the presentation you’d been working on all morning.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the trackpad, and glanced toward the corner of the room. Spencer was exactly where he always ended up on your weekend workdays—curled into the armchair you’d jokingly dubbed “his spot,” legs folded underneath him, a Rubik’s cube dancing between his nimble fingers. The light from the window dappled across his curls, making him look more like a daydream than a real person.

“I hadn’t thought about it yet,” you admitted with a smile, closing your laptop slightly to give him your attention. “Why, did you have something in mind?”

Spencer didn’t look up. His eyes were locked on the colorful cube, the sound of soft plastic clicks filling the space between you. “Cancún,” he said plainly. “We could go to the Mayan ruins, and you could drink and tan on the beach while I read under an umbrella.”

It was said so matter-of-factly as if it were a logical answer to a multiple-choice question. You blinked—and then giggled, unable to help it.

“You’re serious,” you grinned.

He nodded without missing a beat, eyes still glued to the cube. “Of course. The Mayan pyramids at Chichén Itzá are among the most well-preserved examples of ancient Mesoamerican architecture. And I figured you’d enjoy a piña colada and maybe, you know…” His fingers paused just briefly as he gave you a shy glance. “Some time to relax?”

You melted a little like you always did when he tried so hard to think about you, even in the middle of his excitement. “That sounds kind of amazing.”

He shrugged. “I also looked at a couple of options closer to home in case you didn’t want to fly. But I wanted to start big.”

You stood, laptop forgotten, and made your way over to him, sliding into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Spencer Reid,” you said, threading your fingers gently into his curls, “how long have you been planning my birthday without telling me?”

He flushed slightly. “Seventeen days. And six hours. Approximately.”

You kissed his temple, your heart blooming with affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

…

Cancún was everything.

Beautiful, in the way only a place brushed by turquoise water and painted sunsets could be. The kind of beauty that slowed your breath and made you reach instinctively for Spencer’s hand, just to make sure you were both seeing it together.

Fun, in the way that caught you off guard—like when Spencer surprised you by agreeing to dance at that beachside bar after one too many sips of some bright, fruity drink he couldn’t name, cheeks flushed and curls tousled from the wind. Or when he reluctantly joined you in the ocean and immediately lost his footing, laughing so hard he had to clutch your waist for support. More drunk on you than anything else.

Exciting, too. Walking together through the ruins of Chichén Itzá, Spencer practically vibrating with enthusiasm as he explained the alignment of El Castillo with the solstices, hands animated as he gestured toward the shadows cast by the ancient steps. You let him ramble. You loved to let him ramble. Especially when he was this alive, this bright, under a sun he claimed was “just slightly too hot for intellectual pursuits.”

But it was relaxing, too. Quiet mornings with breakfast on the balcony. Your legs draped over his lap while he read to you—sometimes history, sometimes poetry, sometimes just the resort menu aloud in Spanish with a smirk because he knew how it made you laugh.

And, of course, it was romantic. So romantic.

Stolen kisses in shaded courtyards, bare feet brushing under restaurant tables, late-night swims in the moonlight, wrapped in each other’s arms as the waves lapped softly nearby. He tucked hibiscus flowers behind your ear. You kissed sunscreen into the slope of his nose. And when you lay side by side in bed, salt still lingering on your skin, you whispered plans for the future like the stars outside the window could hear them.

Cancún was everything. But mostly, it was yours. Your time. Your memories. Your little pocket of paradise—with the person you loved most.

But all good things must come to an end, as they say. And in your case, the end came in the form of tacos.

It started off like the perfect night. You and Spencer had decided to cap off your trip with dinner at a little oceanside bar—one of those that had hammocks instead of chairs and lights strung overhead like fireflies. You ordered something that sounded incredible on the menu, something bright and spicy, and Spencer got something safe, because of course, he did.

You ate slowly, sipping a drink and watching the waves, laughing when Spencer made a face at the live music that was just slightly off-key. It had all been perfect—until it wasn’t.

The two of you had decided to take a final stroll along the beach, your sandals dangling from one hand, his fingers laced with yours as the tide whispered around your ankles.

And then you gagged.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just a small, subtle noise that you immediately tried to swallow down. You turned your head to the side and kept walking, squeezing his hand tighter like you could distract yourself from your own body.

Spencer noticed instantly. Of course, he did.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stopping to face you with concern already blooming in his eyes.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze, your free hand pressing to your stomach like it might help keep everything inside. “Mhm. I’m fine.”

But your stomach had other plans.

The waves weren’t the only thing churning anymore. A sudden roll of nausea swept through you, violent and immediate. You froze. Then shook your head, wide-eyed and desperate.

“I—I need to go back to the room.”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your sandals from your hands, wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and turned you back toward the resort with a quiet, “Okay, we’re going. It’s okay.”

You felt mortified. You never threw up. Not since that one infamous night ten years ago involving too many sugary desserts and a bonfire with school friends.

But by the time you made it to the elevator, you were already gagging again, your hands shaking. Spencer pressed the buttons like a man on a mission and practically carried you down the hall.

And then… your head was in the toilet. Cold tile beneath your knees. A mess of tears and sickness and embarrassment.

You wouldn’t let Spencer even near the bathroom.

The moment he tried to follow you in, concern etched all over his face, you turned around mid-stumble and pointed a trembling, authoritative finger toward the balcony.

“Out there. Balcony. Now.”

Spencer blinked, stunned. “But I—”

“No, Spencer,” you groaned, one hand on your stomach, the other braced on the wall. “I love you. So much. But if you hear me throw up, I will have to walk into the ocean and never return.”

And before he could protest, you shut the door behind you, sealing yourself in like it was some kind of quarantine chamber. You couldn’t stand the thought of him hearing it—the retching, the gasping, the miserable sounds you hadn’t made in over a decade.

Meanwhile, Spencer stood barefoot on the balcony in the dark, completely banished like it was his fault you were sick. He pressed his palm to the cool glass of the sliding door, face full of worried confusion.

“She basically devours the goriest horror movies she can find but throws me outside for a little food poisoning,” he muttered to himself.

And yet—he stayed. Just outside the door, pacing softly, arms folded, waiting for any sign that you were okay. Because if you needed to pretend he wasn’t hearing you puke your guts out? Then he would pretend, too.

You clutched the toilet's cool porcelain like it was your only anchor, your forehead pressed to your arm, knees aching against the tile. The world was spinning in sharp little circles, and your entire body was clammy, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin.

But then, from outside the bathroom door came the soft sound of Spencer’s voice. “Y/N?”

“Spencer!” you croaked, panicked and furious in equal measure. “NO!”

There was a pause, and you could hear the shift of his bare feet on the floor, and the rustle of his shirt as he leaned gently against the other side of the door. “Baby, it’s okay,” he said, calm and steady like he was soothing a frightened cat instead of a grown woman violently rejecting tacos. “It’s normal. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“It’s so gross!” you sobbed, barely able to catch your breath between waves of nausea and your own tears. “I’m sweaty, and—and puking, and I don’t want you to see me like this!”

There was a long silence. Not awkward. Not disappointed. Just full of Spencer’s care, humming just beneath the surface like a low, warm current.

And then, with a voice so soft it barely reached through the wood: “Sweetheart… I’ve seen humanity at its worst. But I have never, not once, thought someone I loved being sick was anything but human. You’re not gross. You’re hurting. And I want to be here for you.”

You sniffled, knuckles pressed to your lips, too ashamed to answer at first.

“I can stay out here. I will,” he continued gently. “But just… let me bring you a glass of water when you’re ready. Or a washcloth. Or a hug. You don’t have to let me in, but don’t shut me out.”

Your heart broke a little at how kind he was. And maybe it was the nausea, or maybe it was love, or maybe both—but you whimpered through the door, voice small and shaky: “I hate being vulnerable.”

And Spencer, without missing a beat, said softly, “I know. That’s why I’m so proud of you. You’re doing it anyway.”

Before you could stop it, your body lurched forward and you retched again, vomiting hard and fast—hopefully for the last time. Your throat burned, your stomach twisted, and by the time it was over, you were choking on a sob you hadn’t meant to let out.

You flushed the toilet with a shaky hand, then slid back against the wall, collapsing ungracefully onto the tile floor. Knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. You were crying now—really crying—coughing between tears, breath hitching like your body didn’t know how to calm itself down.

The door creaked.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice was sharp with worry. “I’m coming in.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The door opened, and there he was—barefoot, heart pounding, hair slightly windblown from the balcony breeze, and eyes wide with panic.

He spotted you immediately, curled up on the floor, flushed and tear-streaked, the air still heavy with misery.

“Hey—hey, no, no, no,” Spencer rushed to you, dropping to his knees without a second thought. “Can I hold you?”

“I didn’t—” you hiccuped, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You’re sick, not radioactive,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Let me take care of you, please.”

And something in you cracked again—but this time, not from nausea or shame. This time, it was the comfort. The love. The refusal he had to let you face any of it alone.

You covered your mouth with your hand, still red-eyed and trembling. “At least let me brush my teeth,” you mumbled, voice hoarse and shaky, cheeks burning with leftover embarrassment.

Spencer immediately nodded, standing up with you in one fluid motion, his hands warm and gentle as they steadied your arms. “Yes, absolutely. That’s actually really important—”

You let out a wet, half-laugh, half-sob as he began.

“—because vomiting introduces stomach acid into your mouth, specifically hydrochloric acid, which can weaken enamel. So you should actually wait a few minutes and rinse with water first—”

“Spencer,” you croaked, even as you leaned against the counter, reaching for your toothbrush.

“Right, right,” he said softly, rubbing your back. “I’ll wait to give the lecture until you’re minty fresh.”

You couldn’t help but smile—still teary, still exhausted, but somehow lighter. Because he wasn’t there to see you at your best. He was there because he wanted to be, even when you were at your absolute worst.

“Need to be able to kiss you if you’re going to talk dirty to me,” you muttered flatly, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

Spencer, who had just handed you a glass of water to rinse with, froze.

Then, slowly—painfully—his cheeks turned pink, that signature flush creeping all the way to the tips of his ears. He let out a surprised laugh, nearly stumbling back a step like the words had physically knocked him off balance.

“Oh my God,” he said, grinning now, visibly relieved to see a flicker of your usual spark return. “You’re definitely feeling better.”

You rinsed, spit, and wiped your mouth, finally looking at him with a tired but mischievous little smile. “Still weak. Still gross. But capable of inappropriate humor? Always.”

Spencer beamed and then, because he couldn’t help himself, leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself.” You sighed. “But thank you for being here. Even when I banish you to balconies.”

He chuckled, resting his hand on your hip. “For future reference, you’re allowed to puke. And I’m allowed to love you anyway.”

“Thank you, baby,” you murmured, stroking your fingers gently across his stomach—a spot you knew was always sensitive, always made him twitch or blush or just melt a little. His breath hitched ever so slightly, and he looked at you with soft, grateful eyes.

“You’re not allowed, though,” you added, scrunching your nose. “I don’t want to hear you puke.”

Spencer balked, his mouth dropping open as his eyebrows shot up in exaggerated mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You laughed, stepping back just slightly to put a hand on your hip, already amused with yourself. “It’s gross! I probably wouldn’t find you sexy anymore.”

He let out a sharp breath that was half gasp, half laugh, and shook his head slowly, grinning with that very specific brand of Spencer Reid indignation. “Wow. Wow. That’s… I see how it is.”

And then, with the softest, most ridiculous gesture imaginable, he raised his closed fist and lightly—very lightly—tapped it against your jaw. Like he was throwing the world’s gentlest punch.

You both burst out laughing.

“Violence?” you teased, holding your hand to your chest. “This is what happens when I speak my truth?”

Spencer smirked, eyes glittering. “You threaten my sex appeal and my digestive dignity, and I’m the villain?”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re rude.”

“You’re lucky I’m still in love with you.”

“You’re lucky I am,” he shot back, lips twitching into another grin.

And just like that, the nausea, the embarrassment, the tile-floor misery—it all drifted away, replaced by laughter, love, and the kind of comfort that only came from being exactly where you belonged.

—

Spencer’s sitting at his dining table, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed in concentration, a case file spread out before him. He’s got one hand tangled in his hair and the other scribbling something in the margins of the profile, lips moving soundlessly as he works through his thoughts. It’s the posture he takes when he’s fully in the zone—focused, brilliant, unreachable by most.

But not by you. Not usually.

You’re curled up on the couch a few feet away, watching him with quiet affection and just a hint of boredom. He’s been at it for nearly two hours, and though he’s still talking to you intermittently, it’s all half-responses and murmured agreements. You know he doesn’t mean to ignore you—he’s just wired this way, intense and single-minded when something’s clawed its way into his brain.

Still, you’re feeling a little fragile today. Not enough to show it or say it out loud, but just enough to want a little more softness. A little more attention. Something light.

So you joke, voice casual but tinged with a vulnerability you hope doesn’t show, “Sorry I’m being so annoying, I’ll try to contain the full force of my unbearable personality.”

Spencer doesn’t look up.

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, pen still scratching across the paper. “That’d be great, thanks.”

You blink, your breath catching slightly in your throat. It takes a second to process that he actually heard you. Or at least—he heard the words. Not the meaning behind them. Not the way you laughed softly at the end, like it was all a joke when it wasn’t really.

And now he’s nodding to himself, flipping the page, muttering something about behavioral escalation, completely oblivious to the way his offhand agreement landed like a punch to your gut.

You sit still for a moment, too still. The kind of stillness that only happens when you’re trying not to cry out of sheer ridiculousness. It shouldn’t hurt. You know he didn’t mean it. But it does.

It does.

Without a word, you stand up slowly and make your way down the hall. You don’t slam the door. You don’t huff or sniff or stomp. You just slip into the bathroom and close the door gently behind you.

Spencer doesn’t even look up.

But after a minute or two—midway through a paragraph—his brain finally pings with something off.

The silence. The lack of your usual commentary or music playing faintly on your phone. The way you hadn’t laughed at his last mumbled fact about the statistical relevance of childhood trauma. The fact that you’re gone.

His pen stills.

“...Babe?”

No answer.

He looks up. The living room is empty. The soft blanket you were under is tossed neatly on the arm of the couch. The bathroom door is shut. The apartment is silent.

His heart sinks.

He replays what just happened in his head, scanning it like a file, rewinding your last words.

And then it hits him.

Oh. Oh.

Spencer sets the pen down slowly. His brow furrows, not with confusion but with regret. He pushes his chair back, stands, and crosses the hall to the bathroom, knocking gently—barely more than a tap.

“Sweetheart?” he says softly, already wincing. “Can I come in?”

Because now he knows. Now he really heard you.

Your head jerks up at the soft knock, startled, and you quickly swipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, trying to erase any evidence of the tears threatening to fall. You hadn’t expected him to notice—not so soon, anyway.

His voice comes through the door, tentative and quiet, like he already suspects he’s hurt you. “Y/N?”

You sniffle, caught off guard but trying to play it cool. “I’m in the bathroom…”

“I know,” he replies, a sheepish little laugh wrapped in nervousness. “So… can I come in?”

There’s a pause. You stare at your reflection in the mirror—your red-rimmed eyes, the wobble of your bottom lip, the way you look like someone who’s trying too hard to keep it together. You sigh, but it comes out shaky, the kind of sound that gives you away before your words even have the chance.

“No, Spencer,” you say, voice cracking around the edges, thin and brittle. “Go back to work.”

You try to sound firm, but it’s no use. The second half of the sentence trembles out of your mouth like you’re holding it together with scotch tape and hope. And Spencer hears all of it.

On the other side of the door, he presses his hand flat against the wood like it might get him closer to you. Like maybe, if he touches it gently enough, the damage might reverse itself. His chest twists with guilt, a deep kind of ache he doesn’t quite know how to sit with.

“Hey,” he says softly, not moving away. “I’m not going back to work.”

“Spencer—” you try, your voice small.

“I wasn’t listening,” he cuts in, regret wrapped around every word. “And I’m so sorry for that. You were making a joke, and I just… answered without thinking. I wasn’t really hearing you, and I should’ve. That was a really stupid thing to say and I—I hate that it hurt you.”

You bite your lip hard, tears gathering again, this time not from the offhand comment but from how earnest he sounds now. How soft. How aware.

“I’m not going to push,” he says gently. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I’m staying right here. Just so you know, you’re not alone in there. Not really.”

Silence falls again, but this one is different. It’s full of his presence, not the emptiness from before.

Your voice comes a moment later, barely a whisper. “I just felt… stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” he says immediately. “You’re not annoying. And you don’t have to joke about your feelings to make them easier for me to handle. I want to hear them. I want to know when you’re upset so I can help.”

You hesitate. Then, very quietly, the lock on the door clicks.

Spencer waits.

The door creaks open a few inches, and there you are, tearful and trying your best to look like you’re not.

His eyes soften as he takes a half-step forward, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Hi,” he says gently.

Your voice is still thick. “Hi.”

“Can I hug you now?”

You nod, and the dam breaks completely the second you’re in his arms. He holds you tight—steady, warm, and wordless—resting his chin on your head as you bury your face into his chest.

“I didn’t mean it,” he murmurs. “Not even a little bit. You’re my favorite person. Always.”

And you believe him. Because the thing about Spencer is—when he’s paying attention, really paying attention—he loves you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And right now, he’s paying attention to everything.

—

It was a slow afternoon at the Bureau, the kind where the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual, and even Penelope had stopped trying to invent fake emergencies to liven things up. Files sat untouched, coffee mugs were half-full, and the bullpen was quieter than it had been in weeks.

So when Derek nudged Spencer’s arm and muttered, “Come on, pretty boy, lunch run,” Spencer didn’t argue. They wandered down to the corner deli with the flaky bread and the too-strong espresso Spencer would never drink but secretly liked the smell of.

They sat outside—Spencer with his book tucked under one arm, Derek unwrapping his sandwich with the kind of dedication that meant he wouldn’t speak for the first five bites.

But then, halfway through a fry, Derek looked up. Squinted. Tilted his head.

“Wait,” he said slowly, continuing their conversation, bugged by Spencer’s lack of enthusiasm about the subject. “So you’ve never…”

Spencer blinked, startled, then furrowed his brow. “No?” he answered cautiously, his tone more question than statement.

Derek nearly choked on his drink. “Bro, you literally have a girlfriend!” he said, laughter bubbling up. “How long have you guys been together now?”

“A little over a year,” Spencer replied, shrugging a little as he picked at the edge of his napkin. “But… it’s not about that. We don’t just have sex; we have a relationship. She’s my best friend.”

Derek clutched his chest in mock pain. “That’s sweet, Romeo,” he said dramatically. “But you’re telling me, in all this time, you never asked?”

Spencer looked thoughtful as if he were truly trying to remember if he ever had. “She never offered,” he said eventually. “And I didn’t want to pressure her. It’s not… transactional. We’re just—close. We talk. We… trust each other.”

Derek blinked. “You know you’re allowed to ask, right?”

Spencer tilted his head. “Are you?”

“Yes, Reid,” Derek sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “You can ask for things. Especially in a healthy relationship. Especially if you trust each other. You talk about stuff. It doesn’t make you pushy. It makes you communicative.”

Spencer sat back in his chair, chewing that over.

“…I guess I just figured… if she wanted to, she would.”

“And maybe,” Derek said, sipping his drink like he was about to drop the thesis statement of the day, “she’s just waiting for you to stop treating her like she’s a research subject and start treating her like she wants to be wanted.”

Spencer blinked.

“Oh,” he said. Then softer, “Oh.”

Derek just smirked, biting into his sandwich again. “You’re welcome.”

…

“So I had an interesting conversation with Derek today…” Spencer started, his tone just casual enough to seem like he was testing the waters—but not quite enough to hide that something was definitely on his mind.

You smiled over your shoulder at him, where he was sitting on the other side of the kitchen island, elbows resting beside the cutting board you’d left out earlier. The sizzling of the carrots in your pan gave a little punctuation to the moment. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly, brows raised just a little, the way they always did when he was internally drafting something that made him nervous. He looked like he was mentally pacing even though he was perfectly still.

And then, as if someone hit play on the audio file he'd been rehearsing in his head, he blurted out with the grace of a baby deer on ice, “Will you give me a blowjob?”

The carrots hissed in the oil.

You froze for a fraction of a second—just long enough to let the words fully register—then turned to face him, eyes wide with amusement and a grin tugging at your lips.

“What did you and Derek talk about?” you asked, voice barely containing the delight now bubbling up in your chest.

Spencer flushed immediately, the tips of his ears turning red like you’d flipped a switch. “It—well—I just mentioned that we hadn’t… I mean, not that I expect anything, but he asked, and, well, we haven’t, and I wasn’t sure if—maybe—I was allowed to ask?”

You put the spatula down and turned off the heat, walking slowly around the island toward him, arms crossed but smile blooming. “You needed Derek Morgan to give you a permission slip to ask for a blowjob?”

“I didn’t need it,” Spencer said defensively, but he was already fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater, looking up at you with a sheepish, caught expression. “He just reminded me that asking isn’t a bad thing. I didn’t want to pressure you. I didn’t know if you’d want to or if it would make things weird or—”

You leaned over, kissing his temple, your voice warm and teasing. “You’re adorable when you’re mortified, you know that?”

He groaned softly, letting his forehead fall into his hands. “Please forget how I said it.”

“No chance,” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “But… I am glad you asked. Even if your delivery needs a little work.”

“So that’s not a no?” he mumbled into his palms.

You nuzzled into his hair and whispered, “Definitely not a no, Spencer.”

And just like that, your carrot sauté had officially been put on hold.

Spencer looked up at you from his seat with those wide, impossibly earnest eyes, his cheeks already flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. His voice came out in a breathy little burst like he couldn’t quite believe the moment was happening.

“I’ve never had one before,” he admitted, almost reverent in tone like it was a confession and a milestone all at once.

You smiled, soft and fond, brushing your fingers through his curls with that familiar warmth that always settled him. “I know, baby.”

He nodded like he expected as much—but then curiosity sparked in his eyes again. “Have you?”

You tilted your head, pretending not to notice the question forming. “Have I received a blowjob?”

Spencer groaned immediately, covering his face with both hands again like he regretted opening his mouth in the first place. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, full and bright, the kind of laugh that always pulled a reluctant smile from him even in his most dramatic moments.

“Yes, I’ve given a blowjob or two,” you replied, nonchalantly, dragging out the answer just enough to tease him.

He lifted his head, peeking at you through parted fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is that an accurate count?”

You smirked. “Do you want the real one?”

Without missing a beat, Spencer groaned again, this time more dramatically, and let his head fall forward—landing squarely against your chest like it was the only safe place in the world. He let out a muffled, mock-mournful, “I suppose not,” as his hands found your waist, holding onto you like he needed emotional reinforcement.

You chuckled again, wrapping your arms around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re too cute for your own good, Dr. Reid.”

He sighed, breath warm against your skin. “And you’re still evil.”

“Mm. But I’m your evil.”

That earned you a soft laugh—low and content—and the kind of squeeze around your waist that said he was glad you were the one he was nervous with. The one he was learning with. The one he trusted to laugh, tease, and still love him through it all.

“Is my evil going to keep being evil or…” he mumbled, barely audible like he was trying not to let himself say it all the way.

You arched a brow, grinning as you tilted your head closer to him. “What was that, baby?” you teased, voice syrupy sweet. “You sound a little desperate.”

Spencer groaned—half a whimper, half a plea—his face still pressed against you as if the heat rising in his cheeks might be hidden there. “Y/N…” he whined, the syllables dragging out of his throat like they were coated in syrup and shame.

You cupped the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the soft curls there, and hummed, lips brushing beside his ear now. “Hmm? Are you getting worked up?”

He nodded.

Just once. Small. But you felt it.

“Thinking about my mouth?” you whispered, your voice velvet and heat, each word wrapped around him like a tightening string. “Wrapped around you? Licking you… sucking you…” You smiled as he shivered against you, the tension building in his shoulders like a coiled spring.

“…swallowing you?”

His breath caught—sharp, choked, completely involuntary.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

His whole body did it for him.

Spencer was trembling—not visibly—not in some dramatic, cinematic way—but in the subtle, desperate tension that rippled through him beneath your hands. It was the kind of trembling that came from want layered under nerves, from anticipation that had nowhere to go but deeper.

He was quiet, but you felt the way his fingers tightened around your waist, how his forehead pressed harder into your chest, like if he hid there long enough, he could escape the fire you were so expertly stoking.

But he couldn’t.

You weren’t going to let him.

Your voice dropped even lower, almost a purr now, your lips ghosting over the curve of his ear, “You want me to, don’t you?”

He gave the barest nod again. Like even that little motion required a full-body permission slip.

“I want to hear it, Spence.” You trailed your fingers down his back, slow and light, the kind of touch that made it worse. Made him ache more. “Tell me you want it.”

He groaned—tried to suppress it, but it broke free.

“I do,” he whispered, voice nearly cracked in half. “I want you to…” He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence, the weight of the words too heavy in his mouth.

You softened, cupping his jaw and tilting his face up so you could see his eyes. They were glassy, wide, and so full of helpless want that your heart nearly cracked for him.

“Sweet boy,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his cheek, “you don’t have to be shy with me. You know I’d never laugh at you.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I just… I’ve imagined it so many times and now that it’s real, I…”

“You’re overwhelmed.” You nodded, brushing his hair back from his flushed face. “That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He nodded quickly, jaw tight with restraint, pupils blown wide with anticipation.

You leaned in, kissing him—gently at first, then deeper, your mouth moving slowly over his like a promise. His hands gripped you just tight enough to ground himself, and when you pulled back, your lips were still brushing his.

“Go lie on the bed, baby,” you whispered, your voice full of velvet and control and care. “Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped.”

And for once, in his brilliant, spiraling, overthinking mind—Spencer didn’t argue. He just obeyed.

You watched, wide-eyed and deeply amused, as Spencer practically hightailed it down the hallway like you’d just fired a starting pistol at a race track.

One moment he was wrapped around you, whimpering under your breathy teasing, and the next—whoosh—he was gone, a blur of long limbs and nervous anticipation as he disappeared into your bedroom.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up from your chest. It escaped in a full laugh as you slid the pan of forgotten carrots to a cool spot on the stove. They could wait. Spencer Reid could not.

You walked down the hallway slowly, and deliberately, enjoying every heavy beat of your heart and the warm, fluttering thrill building in your belly. By the time you reached the bedroom doorway, you were prepared to find him nervously waiting under the covers, maybe still in his undershirt, doing that thing where he fiddles with the hem and doesn’t make eye contact—

But no.

Absolutely not.

You stepped into the doorway and nearly doubled over.

“Spencer!” you shrieked, half in joy and half in stunned laughter.

There he was.

Completely naked.

No covers, no strategic sheet positioning, no half-off clothes like some dramatic movie scene. Just all of him, sprawled on your bed, flushed pink and already looking a little overwhelmed—but so clearly ready.

His curls were messy from where he’d run his hands through them. His legs stretched out nervously, feet flexing like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs now that he was all bare. His hands were clenched into the blanket on either side of him, and his entire face was red.

But he held your gaze, wide-eyed and proud, despite how clearly embarrassed he was.

“I, um—” he began, voice cracking like a teenager, “I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait under the blanket, or if you wanted… access…”

You covered your mouth with your hand, laughing into your fingers before you walked over, eyes sparkling.

“Spence,” you whispered, crawling up the bed as he watched you like you were both a goddess and a thunderstorm, “you are the most beautiful, ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

He swallowed hard. “Is… is that a good thing?”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss just below his belly button as he sucked in a breath.

“It’s the best thing,” you murmured again, lips brushing just above the sharp line of his hipbone, letting the heat of your breath linger there while your fingers lightly traced along the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Spencer’s entire body shivered. His hands clutched the comforter like he needed an anchor, his back arched just barely off the bed in anticipation. And then—his voice, soft and breathy and absolutely wrecked already, slipped out:

“O–okay good,” he stammered, blinking down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. “So what do I do…?”

You looked up at him, chin resting lightly on his lower stomach, and gave him a smile so soft, so steady, it made him swallow hard. “Just let me do the work, yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nodded quickly, his curls bouncing, throat working around a nervous gulp. His fingers twitched against the blanket again, like he didn’t trust himself to keep still.

You brushed your hand up his thigh, slow and deliberate, watching as his eyes fluttered shut from just that. “Can I start, baby?”

His head lolled back against the pillows. “Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and pleading. “Do anything… just—do something.”

You grinned—loving, amused, and more than a little hungry—and kissed the inside of his thigh.

“Anything?” you teased, voice like velvet.

Spencer made a sound that was half laugh, half moan, and all desperation. “Anything,” he groaned. “I’ve been mentally preparing for this since I was sixteen, please don’t make me wait.”

You kissed higher. “Well,” you murmured, lips grazing the base of him, “good thing I’ve been practicing since then.”

And then—finally—you took him into your mouth.

And Spencer Reid stopped thinking for the first time in his entire life.

It was just the tip.

Just the head, just the softest, most teasing pull of your lips around the very beginning of him. You didn’t rush, didn’t dive in or try to overwhelm him—no, you knew better. You knew exactly what you were doing. You let your mouth rest there, warm and wet and barely moving, while your tongue flicked out slowly, tracing over that sensitive little slit at the top.

Spencer gasped.

His entire body jerked, muscles twitching like he’d been shocked. His hands flew from the sheets to the top of your head—not to guide or push, never that—but to hold on. Because suddenly he wasn’t sure where the floor was.

You dragged your tongue around the underside of the head, slowly tracing that ridge, the texture of your mouth perfectly tuned to the places he didn’t even know he was sensitive. You flattened your tongue and gave one long, deliberate lick along the underside, and—

Spencer lost it.

A strangled moan burst from his throat, cracked and raw like he’d been holding it in for years. His thighs trembled on either side of you, his back arched, and his hands tightened in your hair just enough to let you know: this is too much, this is everything, don’t you dare stop.

“Oh my God,” he choked, voice barely recognizable. “Oh my God, what—what are you doing to me—”

You pulled back just an inch, lips glossy and grin slow, voice sultry with delight. “Just the tip, baby.”

He stared at you like you’d rewritten physics. “That was just the—” he stopped, exhaled like he’d run a marathon. “I’m gonna die. You’re going to kill me.”

You laughed softly, full of warmth, kissing the base of him. “Not before I ruin you first.”

And then your mouth was back on him, and Spencer Reid stopped remembering how language worked.

The muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your hands, his breath catching in his throat like his lungs couldn’t decide whether to inhale or just shatter. He didn’t say your name this time—he couldn’t. It hovered on the edge of his tongue, but the sound died somewhere in his chest, overtaken by sensation.

You were slow, focused, and reverent. Every little movement felt purposeful like you were studying him again—not with questions or statistics but with care, and your tongue.

His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, and a soft, fractured moan escaped him. “Oh my God—” he breathed, hands fisting the sheets beside him, his whole body trembling under the weight of what you were doing to him.

He wanted to say something. Anything. A fact. A thank you. A prayer. But all he could manage was another helpless sound from deep in his throat, one that seemed to surprise even him.

You looked up at him once—just once—and that was it.

Spencer came. Loudly. Beautifully. Like someone unraveling at the seams in the safest hands possible.

“Shit,” Spencer whispered, his voice cracked and breathless, still reeling from the wave that had just wrecked him.

You pulled back slowly as you swallowed, wiping your mouth with your thumb, smirking like you’d just completed the most satisfying science experiment of your life. “Hmm?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes at him.

Spencer let out a groan and immediately covered his face with one hand, his curls sticking slightly to his forehead. “That was so quick,” he panted, the words muffled behind his palm. “That’s so embarrassing.”

You laughed—soft and affectionate—as you leaned forward to pat his trembling thighs. “I take it as a huge compliment, baby.”

He peeked through his fingers at you, cheeks flaming red, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should pout or grin.

“I had plans,” he said dramatically, flopping back against the pillow. “Plans that involved at least five more minutes of dignity.”

You bent over and kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, well, your dignity didn’t stand a chance the second I started kissing your stomach.”

Spencer groaned again. “I told you that spot is unfair—”

“Not my fault you’re cute and responsive.”

He sighed, defeated, and rolled onto his side, reaching for you like he needed to physically confirm you were still there. “You’re evil.”

You curled into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over both your bodies as his arm draped around your waist.

“Yeah,” you murmured against his temple. “So I’ve been told.”

And Spencer just nodded, breath finally starting to even out, already plotting revenge he absolutely wouldn’t survive executing.

—

They don’t happen often. Spencer’s nightmares—true, bone-deep night terrors—are rare, but when they come, they’re merciless. Cruel. All-consuming.

And tonight is one of those nights.

You wake before your eyes are even open, stirred not by sound exactly but by the feeling of wrongness beside you. The mattress shifts sharply under Spencer’s body as he thrashes, limbs jerking under the sheets. His breaths are short and panicked, puffing from his lips like he’s being chased, hunted by some unseen force only his subconscious knows how to conjure.

He whines—a soft, broken thing, high-pitched and choked—and it makes your heart snap clean in two.

Unlike the times when he wakes you in the middle of the night shuffling for a glass of water or pacing from a post-case spiral, there's no irritation, no groggy frustration. Only fear. Only worry.

You sit up instantly, resting your weight on one elbow as your free hand reaches for him, brushing the soaked curls back from his clammy forehead. He’s burning with sweat, his t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, his body caught between escape and paralysis.

You start to hum. Soft. Steady. Familiar.

It’s the tune you’ve used a hundred times to calm him—after a case, after a long day, during those quiet moments when the world outside gets too loud for Spencer Reid’s mind.

Your fingers stroke through his hair as you hum, and slowly, slowly, the rhythm of his breathing begins to shift. His muscles twitch less. The tension under his skin begins to loosen like a tight knot finally unraveling. Then, finally, his eyes flutter open—wide and glassy and searching.

His head turns toward you like a compass, finding its true north. He reaches out blindly, fingertips catching your wrist, shirt, shoulder—anything to anchor himself in the waking world.

“I’m here, baby,” you whisper, taking his hand in yours and pressing it to your chest so he can feel the steady beat of your heart. “You were having a nightmare.”

He nods once, but his jaw trembles, and then—the dam breaks.

His chin wobbles, lips pulling into a grimace as silent tears rise like a tide and begin spilling down his cheeks. He doesn’t sob. He doesn’t wail. It’s quieter than that. More devastating. Like something fragile inside him finally cracked open.

“Spencer, my love,” you whisper, brushing your thumb under his eye as you guide him gently toward you, “do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head—violently, once, twice—and that’s enough for you to know. It was either his kidnapping… or you.

But you don’t press. You just nod. And pull him closer.

He lets you move him, lets you shift back against the pillows so he can collapse against your chest, curled in, face tucked to your skin, holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You cradle him. Wrap yourself around him like armor. And then—so softly, so lovingly—you begin to sing.

“Stars shining bright above you…”

Spencer’s breath hitches but slows.

“Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’...”

You press a kiss to his curls, feeling him melt into you.

“Birds singing in the sycamore trees…”

“Dream a little dream of me,” you finish gently, brushing your nose against his temple.

And then, a soft sound. A tiny, choked snort of a laugh.

You glance down to see his eyes squeezed shut, but the corners are crinkled.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, tears, and love.

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back. “Try and sleep now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Always.

—

Spencer barely remembered to eat that morning.

His mind had spiraled from the moment the facility called—soft voices and hesitant words and phrases like "she's declining" and "you may want to come soon"—and by the time he got to Hotch’s office, he could hardly string the request together in a full sentence.

But Hotch didn’t blink. Didn’t ask for details.

“Go,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair. “Take whatever time you need.”

Because everyone knew Spencer Reid never took time off. Not unless the sky was falling. And this? This was his sky.

He’d meant to text you. He really had. You were always the person he told first—when he had a rough case, when he learned a new theory, when he read a sentence in a book that made him think of you. But this wasn’t something he wanted to say over the phone. This wasn’t something he wanted to share—not yet. Not when it felt like he was barely holding it together.

So instead, he packed. A little chaotically. A little too fast. He folded things with military precision one moment, then dropped a pair of socks on the floor and forgot to pick them up.

He kept checking the clock, like maybe time would slow down if he stared at it hard enough.

And that’s where you found him—a half-zipped suitcase on the bed, his tie thrown over the back of a chair, a look in his eyes like he wasn’t entirely there.

You knocked as you opened the door, calling gently, “Knock knock!”

His head snapped up. Eyes wide. Guilt immediate. “Y/N—God, I—” he blinked, stepping toward you before stopping himself mid-step. “I was going to call. I should have called. I meant to tell you.”

You stood in the doorway, taking him in—his uncombed curls, the slight shake in his hands, the suitcase half-packed but with none of his favorite books.

“Tell me what?” you asked softly, walking toward him now, your voice the only calm thing in the room.

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms over his knees like the movement might settle him.

“It’s my mom,” he said quietly. “She’s not doing well. They called. Said I should come.”

And then—his voice even softer, like it hurt to say— “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You knelt in front of him, gently grounding your hands into his. “Spence,” you whispered, “you don’t have to protect me from this. I want to be worried about her. With you.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned forward, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he exhaled like maybe he could finally let some of it go.

And when he opened them again, you were already packing his books. The ones you knew he’d want. The ones that made him feel at home. The way you did.

“You need to tell me these things,” you said, not unkindly but firm—your voice was soft, steady, and kind of serious, and it didn’t leave room for argument. You were beside his suitcase, carefully tucking the last of his books into the corner, smoothing the fabric over them like it would keep him safe.

Spencer nodded solemnly, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked down, guilt clouding his features like a child being gently scolded—not because you were harsh, but because he knew he should have told you. He meant to. He just… didn’t. And that fact alone ate at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You looked up at him then, pausing for just a beat before you asked the question like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as natural as breathing: “Do you want me to come?”

His eyes darted to yours. Surprise flickered behind them—not because he didn’t want you to, but because the thought hadn’t yet made it to the surface. His mind had been too full of logistics, of fear, of memories he didn’t want to revisit alone—but now, with you saying it like, of course, like it wasn’t even a question—he felt his chest ache in the best possible way.

“What about work?” he asked quietly, still hesitant. Still Spencer.

You shrugged, standing slowly as you closed his suitcase and turned to face him fully. “It’s a family emergency.”

And you meant it.

Because Diana was your family too. Because he was your family.

Spencer blinked, and in that blink, something shifted. His shoulders dropped, the breath he’d been holding finally released, and his fingers reached for yours like he needed to ensure this was real.

“Okay,” he said.

And it was more than agreement. It was relief. He didn’t have to do this alone.

Not this time.

Spencer had thought it wasn’t possible to love you any more than he already did. He’d been so sure of it—so convinced that whatever threshold love had, he had already reached it with you. Already filled every available space in his heart with the sound of your laugh, the weight of your gaze, the way you said his name like it was a vow.

But then you stood in his bedroom, your hands on his suitcase, folding his shirts and slipping his books inside like you knew exactly which ones he’d reach for when the silence in the facility got too loud. You didn’t ask what you should pack. You didn’t ask for instructions. You just knew.

And when you asked if you should come with him—not out of obligation or pity, but because of course, you would—you said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was the one who needed to be reminded that this is what love looks like. This unwavering presence. This gentle certainty.

He looked at you and thought, How foolish of me.

To believe he’d reached the edge of it. To think there was a limit. To not realize that love, when it was real—when it was you—only deepened.

It didn’t swell like a tide. It unfolded like a galaxy.

And as you zipped up his bag, took his hand, and told him it was a family emergency—no hesitation, no doubt—he knew with absolute clarity: He hadn’t even scratched the surface of how much he could love you.

…

The plane ride was, as expected, not Spencer’s idea of a good time.

He had tried—really tried—to keep it together, to focus on the practicality of air travel, the necessity of getting to his mother quickly. But no matter how many times he told himself it was just recycled air, probability, and basic physics, his mind still latched onto every microbe, every cough within a five-row radius, every time someone touched the bathroom handle and then the seat tray without washing their hands.

His leg bounced with a steady rhythm. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. His eyes stayed fixed on the in-flight safety card even after the flight attendant had long finished her speech.

And sleep? Forget it.

His brain was too busy. Running through timelines and medications, wondering if his mother would remember his face, wondering what kind of decline they meant when they said “declining,” wondering if he’d already missed something important.

But then, amid all that spiraling noise, he felt a small, warm weight shift against his arm.

You’d fallen asleep.

It was subtle at first, just the way your head leaned further into him, your shoulder relaxing as the hum of the cabin lured you in. And then, slowly, gently, your cheek came to rest against his shoulder. A little sigh escaped your lips, something soft and content, and then—

A tiny snore.

Followed by the unmistakable damp warmth of drool beginning to spread onto the shoulder of his sweater.

He blinked. Looked down. And instead of being annoyed or grossed out, or even startled—Spencer smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But real.

Because there was you in all the discomfort, stress, and spiraling unknowns. Snoring. Drooling. Completely knocked out and trusting enough to use him as your pillow. And for just a moment, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

He adjusted his arm a little so you’d be more comfortable, rested his cheek on top of your head, and let his eyes close—not to sleep, not yet, but to breathe.

And if his heart beat just a little slower after that? Well. He figured maybe drool wasn’t so bad after all.

When you and Spencer finally made it to the facility and stepped through the front doors, a weight settled over both of you—thick and invisible, wrapping around your lungs and squeezing with every step down the hall. It wasn’t just sterile lighting or that muted scent of disinfectant and aging upholstery. It was the stillness. The hollow kind that only existed in long-term care centers, where time felt both endless and unkind.

Spencer was quiet beside you. Almost too quiet.

He held your hand, but his fingers weren’t threaded with their usual softness—they were locked tight like he needed the contact to anchor him to the floor. He hadn’t spoken much since the drive. You knew he was trying to hold it together; that part of him was walking in that door as her son, and another part was walking in as a protector, a man who had spent his whole life-solving unsolvable problems—except this one.

You offered a small squeeze, and his eyes were already glassy when he looked at you. He gave you a grateful, heartbroken smile.

The nurse met you at the door of Diana’s room. He was kind. Soft-spoken. He gave Spencer an update that he barely registered, nodding absently as he mentioned medication changes, good days and bad days, and lucid moments that came less and less frequently.

And then… you were inside.

Diana Reid sat by the window, hair neatly brushed, her cardigan buttoned all the way to the top like someone had helped her with care. She stared out at the garden with a faint smile, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t quite there.

“Hi, Mom,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t turn. Not right away. Not until he stepped closer.

And then—slowly, cautiously—her head turned. Her eyes met his, blinking once… twice…

And she smiled.

“Spencer,” she said softly, voice a fragile thread. “You’re so tall.”

Spencer laughed. It cracked in the middle.

You stood back, giving them space, tears threatening behind your eyes as he knelt beside her, taking her hand, speaking gently to her like she might drift away if he was too loud.

It was hard. So much harder than you thought it would be.

But watching him speak to her, watching him love her through the heartbreak—it reminded you of everything you already knew about Spencer Reid:

That his heart was vast. And no matter how much it hurt, he would always show up.

You would never tell Spencer how much it hurt you to see this. Not the weight of the facility. Not the trembling fragility in Diana’s voice. Not the way Spencer’s face cracked in places you’d never seen before.

Because this wasn’t about you. It wasn’t your pain to center. You were here for him.

And no matter how deeply it ached to see him kneeling there, clutching his mother’s hand like he was trying to hold time still, you knew the pain running through his veins was sharper. More personal. More impossible.

So you stood quietly at his side, calm, steady, present.

Spencer looked up at one point, eyes flicking toward you with a soft, hopeful smile, and said, “Mom, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.”

Diana tilted her head, brow furrowing slightly. She studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

Then she let out a soft, amused little huff. “You’re far too young to have a girlfriend,” she said, teasing, her tone light but off-kilter, like she was only half in the moment.

You offered a polite, if slightly uncomfortable, smile, stepping forward gently. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Reid. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Your voice was sweet, and your posture was perfect. You were warm, polite, and kind, even as her words stung—not because they were cruel, but because they were true, in their own heartbreaking way.

Because she didn’t see him.

Not the man who spent his entire life trying to understand her. Not the man who fought tooth and nail to keep her comfortable, safe, and protected. Not the man who flew across states to hold her hand.

She saw a boy.

“Aren’t you in school?” she asked him, blinking rapidly, confused now. “Where’s your backpack?”

Spencer froze.

You saw it the moment his smile faltered—the millisecond his lips tried to recover, tried to shape themselves into something reassuring. “Mom… I’m 28.”

She blinked. “No. No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me, Spencer.”

“I’m not lying,” he said gently, trying to hold her gaze. “I’m 28. I work for the FBI now. I—”

Diana’s face changed. The confusion shifted into something sharper. Panic. Fear.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re just a boy. You’re my little boy. Stop lying to me!”

Spencer’s voice caught in his throat. “Mom—”

You were already stepping forward, crouching beside him, reaching across to squeeze his arm gently. “Spence,” you whispered softly, “maybe… maybe not right now, okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, his mother’s panic echoing in his ears, his shoulders tense and still.

You turned to Diana, voice sweet and soft again. “Would you like to talk about your garden? It looks so beautiful out there.” You pointed to the window.

Diana’s eyes flicked to you, wide and tear-glossed, but she nodded slowly, her fingers relaxing just slightly.

And beside you, Spencer just kept holding her hand. Even as it trembled. Even as he did.

The night was hard—long, quiet, and restless. Spencer had said goodnight to his mother with that practiced softness you’d seen before, like he was trying not to fold inward, trying to be composed. But when you got back to the hotel, that composure started to crack.

He showered in silence. Didn’t ask for your music. Barely responded when you gently offered to order room service or rub his back. He just moved through his routine like a ghost, heavy and quiet, haunted by something too big to name.

Eventually, he crawled into bed beside you. But sleep didn’t come easy.

He tossed. Turned. Huffed softly against the sheets. You didn’t press. You just opened your arms when he finally rolled toward you, found your chest, and curled into the soft rise and fall of your breath like it was the only thing grounding him. You held him close, stroking his back, whispering nothing in particular—just letting him know you were there.

By morning, he was finally still. His curls were splayed across your chest, one arm slung limply around your waist, his breathing deep but a little uneven, like even in rest he couldn’t quite settle.

You tried to slip out without waking him—so carefully—but the second your warmth left his side, he stirred.

“Shh,” you whispered, already rounding the bed. You ran your fingers gently through his curls, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Still here, sweetheart. Just sleep.”

He sighed under your touch, not quite waking, and you watched his brow soften again as you guided him back into slumber.

Only then did you slip into the bathroom with your phone, the door cracked open just enough to hear if he called out.

You sat on the edge of the tub, scrolling quietly.

There are flower shops near the facility, coffee places with quiet booths and good lighting, a few tucked-away bookstores, art galleries, natural history museums, and a pop-up science exhibit that might be small but still worth exploring.

Las Vegas had no shortage of distractions—but finding the right ones for Spencer? That was a challenge. It took knowing his moods, his quirks, the things that soothed his mind when it spiraled. You weren’t just looking for something to do—you were trying to build a soft place for him to land in case today broke his heart again.

You’d do it all if it helped. Because he would do the same for you. And because loving Spencer meant knowing how to love gently.

When Spencer finally stirred again, it was slow—his lashes fluttering, his breath shifting against the pillow, his limbs stretching just slightly like he was testing the air around him. The light from the window was soft, filtered through the gauzy hotel curtains, casting everything in that gentle, golden morning haze.

You were exactly where you wanted to be: curled up beside him, one hand absently stroking through his curls as your eyes skimmed over the pages of your book. The moment you felt him stir, you marked your place but didn’t move—just kept running your fingers through his hair, grounding him.

Then he let out a sound. Something between a whimper and a groan—deep, low, and raw from his chest.

You looked down immediately, concern tightening in your throat. “Okay, baby?” you asked softly, brushing a curl off his forehead.

He didn’t open his eyes fully—just turned his face slightly into your side, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Just need you.”

You set your book down without hesitation and wrapped your arms around him, tucking his head to your chest, holding him as close as he needed. “You have me,” you murmured, kissing the crown of his head, letting your hands trail gently along his back. “Always.”

And in that quiet little cocoon of tangled sheets and steady love, you gave him the safety he didn’t know how to ask for—but always found in you.

Spencer nodded against your chest, his breath hitching just slightly. Before you heard the sniffle, you felt the damp warmth of a tear at the edge of his eye. His whole body curled into you like he was trying to hide inside your arms.

His voice cracked when he started, “You… you were so perfect yesterday.”

You tilted your head down, kissing the top of his hair again, your fingers still carding through the curls at the nape of his neck. “Hmm? Why’s that, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. You could feel him searching for the words, his mind flicking through the moments like files in a cabinet, trying to find the one that made his throat tight and his chest feel like it was folding in on itself.

“You didn’t panic,” he finally whispered, his voice fragile. “When she started to spiral when she didn’t remember me—when she yelled at me—you didn’t look scared. You didn’t try to fix it. You just… helped. You gave her a different focus, something gentle. You gave me time to breathe.”

You stayed quiet, holding him tighter, because you knew he wasn’t done.

“And I didn’t even say thank you. I—I didn’t tell you what it meant. I couldn’t. I think I was… still trying to hold myself together. But I saw it. I saw everything you did.”

You felt his shoulders tremble slightly as another breath shook out of him.

“You were just… perfect,” he murmured again like he didn’t know any other word big enough at that moment. “And I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss the corner of his damp eye and whispered, “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. That’s what love looks like.”

And you stayed right there, arms around him, holding the weight of everything he didn’t have to carry alone.

—

It started small—barely a shift. A silence between words. A longer pause before answering your texts. A softness to his eyes that held more weight than usual.

Spencer was in his head again.

You could feel it the way people feel a pressure drop before a storm: subtle, but undeniable.

He still kissed you good morning. Still held your hand when you crossed the street. Still brought you your favorite snacks from the store without asking. But behind it all, something tugged at him. A quiet unease that he hadn’t voiced yet, but you knew was there.

And in his head, it was loud.

Because Spencer Reid had never been loved like this before.

Not with the kind of tenderness you offered without question. Not with the way you remembered what calms him, what overstimulates him, what makes him light up. Not with the way you touched him so reverently, not because he was fragile, but because you treasured him.

You made space for his rituals. You never mocked his routines. You celebrated his quirks and soothed his spirals. You told him he was enough—and somehow, you meant it.

And he believed you. He did.

But tonight, after you’d made dinner, rubbed his back, and laughed at all his nerdy jokes, something inside him twisted tight.

You always did so much. You made loving him look easy.

And Spencer?

He didn’t feel like he deserved easy.

He lay beside you in bed, his arm wrapped around your waist, chin resting lightly against your shoulder, but his thoughts were somewhere else. Tangled and noisy and sharp.

Do I do enough? She deserves flowers and poetry and grand gestures and I… fold her laundry when she’s tired. What if she thinks I’m not trying hard enough? What if she doesn’t know how much I worship her?

His grip around you tightened slightly—subtle, but enough for you to feel it.

You turned your head, looking at him in the low glow of the bedside lamp. “Spence?” you asked softly. “Where are you right now?”

He blinked, eyes darting like he’d been caught.

“I’m here,” he said automatically, then hesitated. His voice dropped. “I mean… sort of.”

You rolled gently to face him, brushing a hand through his curls, watching how his lips pressed into a thin, guilty line.

“Talk to me?”

He swallowed, hard. “I just… I don’t think I do enough. For you.”

Your brows knit, but you didn’t speak. You let him keep going.

“You do everything in your power to make me feel safe and cared for, and—and loved, and I just—what do I do? I… hold your coffee while you put your shoes on. I memorize your schedules. I read your favorite book three times and bookmarked my favorite parts and never even told you because I was nervous you’d think that wasn’t enough.”

His voice cracked, just a little. “But I adore you. And I don’t know if I’m showing it right.”

You leaned in, and touched his cheek, your heart full and aching.

“Oh, Spencer,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You do everything right.”

Spencer’s eyes glistened, and for a moment he didn’t trust himself to speak. He opened his mouth once, then shut it again, his throat working like he was trying to find language that didn’t exist yet.

“I…” he began, then paused, frustrated. “I don’t have the right words. Not—not mine, anyway.”

You rubbed your thumb gently along his cheekbone, watching him carefully, waiting.

His hand tightened around yours like it grounded him. Then, almost breathlessly, he said, “Can I… borrow someone else's?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

Spencer took a breath, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. And then, in a voice that shook at the edges but still carried so much warmth, he began to recite:

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Pablo Neruda. You recognized it immediately.

Spencer’s voice dropped lower, reverent now, every word reverberating between you.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

He stopped, just barely, a breath trembling against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered—not just from tears, but from everything he couldn’t say without someone else’s poetry to carry it.

“I don’t always know how to say it,” he whispered. “Not the way you deserve. But I feel it. Every second. It’s—in me. Like that poem. Like breathing.”

You moved closer, cradling his face in your hands, your own tears slipping free now, quiet and full.

“Spencer,” you whispered, voice thick, “you show me you love me every single day. And that?” You touched your forehead to his. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He exhaled shakily, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, neither of you ever would.

—

The motel was small and a little sad—one of those off-the-highway places with flickering neon signs and rooms that smelled vaguely of lemon cleaner and disappointment. The team had wrapped up the latest round of interviews for the night and gathered outside near the parking lot, taking advantage of the cool evening air and vending machine snacks before turning in.

Morgan sat on the SUV's hood, tearing into a bag of trail mix like it had insulted his family. Emily leaned against the passenger-side door, sipping a bottle of water, eyes sharp and amused. The conversation had already veered wildly off-course from the case, and like clockwork, it had drifted into teasing territory.

“I’m just saying,” Morgan said, grinning around a mouthful of almonds, “this town might be depressing as hell, but I did see a very enthusiastic bartender eyeing me at the diner.”

Emily let out a low, knowing chuckle. “Oh, please. You were offered three numbers from women we interviewed today.”

“Hey, I didn't take any of them. I can’t help that I’m desirable,” Morgan said, giving her a playful nudge with his foot.

“Desirable or shameless?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Why not both?”

Spencer, who’d been half-listening while flipping through the case file one more time, looked up from where he was perched on the curb. “Do either of you ever think about, I don’t know, boundaries?”

“Boundaries?” Emily repeated, grinning as she turned toward him. “Come on, Reid. You make it sound like we’re chasing people through hospital wards. We’re talking about consenting adults.”

“Exactly,” Morgan added, wagging a finger. “Grown folks, grown decisions.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Some people might prefer to focus on the case.”

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully. “You mean you.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but the blush creeping up his neck was answer enough.

Morgan leaned forward like he’d just smelled blood in the water. “You’re telling me, Pretty Boy, that in all the time we’ve been out in the field—years, by the way—you’ve never, not once, had a little... off-duty adventure?”

Spencer shifted awkwardly. “I don’t really think—”

“Oh my God,” Emily gasped, feigning horror as she clutched her water bottle. “Never? Not even a little flirtation at a hotel bar? A mysterious woman with a tragic backstory? A man in a cowboy hat named—”

“You’re projecting,” Spencer said flatly.

Emily grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

“I just don’t see the point in meaningless interactions with people I’ll never see again,” Spencer said, shrugging a little like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Buddy,” Morgan said with a laugh, “it’s not meaningless if it’s fun.”

“Exactly,” Emily chimed in. “We’re not saying you’ve got to form a long-term emotional attachment over drinks and a shared trauma. Just that… exploration is healthy.”

“You guys sound like a pair of bad sex ed videos,” Spencer muttered, tucking his file under his arm and standing up.

Morgan grinned. “We’re trying to help you, man.”

“I don’t need help,” Spencer said. “And for the record, I’ve had plenty of—experiences. Just not with every waitress and desk clerk, we pass along the way.”

“Oh, come on,” Emily had joked. “Name one.”

And he’d blinked, fumbling for the simplest, most obvious answer. “I have a girlfriend?”

It was meant to be enough. More than enough. He thought maybe they’d drop it after that. Maybe Morgan would whistle, or Emily would roll her eyes and call him smug. But instead—

“And I bet those are the only tits you’ve ever seen,” Morgan laughed, head tossed back, that familiar, easy drunk-banter tone laced with sharpness he didn’t realize he’d crossed.

The laughter that followed was sloppy and loud. Emily chuckled too, but hers was a little more hesitant—her gaze already sliding toward Spencer like maybe they had gone too far.

Spencer didn’t laugh. His spine stiffened, and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

Because yeah… okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe he hadn’t racked up any wild, tangled encounters in foreign cities or hooked up with someone he couldn’t remember the last name of. Maybe he didn’t have wild stories about tequila-fueled nights or poolside flings. But it wasn’t like he’d planned that.

He was just… different.

And sometimes—especially moments like this—it made him feel like he’d missed something. Like everyone else had been handed a script on how to be effortlessly cool and experienced, and he’d shown up too late to memorize the lines.

Morgan was still grinning, but Emily had caught on now, her smile slipping completely as she glanced toward Spencer again. He wasn’t saying anything. Wasn’t making a witty comeback or rolling his eyes. He just stood there, arms crossed too tightly, jaw clenched a little too hard.

“Hey,” Emily said softly, nudging Morgan. “That was a little much.”

Morgan blinked, still chuckling, but when he looked at Spencer and saw the tension there—the discomfort etched into his face—his smile dropped too.

“Reid,” he said, sobering, “I was just messing around, man.”

Spencer gave a small, tight shrug. “Yeah. I know.”

But his voice didn’t match the words. Not really.

Emily stepped forward and leaned her shoulder into his gently. “Hey. You’re not missing anything, you know. We just talk a big game. It’s a lot of noise.”

Spencer nodded, still not quite looking at either of them. “It’s fine.”

Morgan sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously, that wasn’t cool. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. You’ve got someone who loves you, and that’s more than a lot of people ever get.”

That softened something—just slightly—in Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna head back,” he murmured after a beat. “Big day tomorrow.”

And he turned, walking slowly back toward his room, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

Behind him, Emily gave Morgan a look, and Morgan just exhaled heavily.

Because for all the joking and teasing… they sometimes forgot how deeply Spencer felt things. And how, sometimes, even good-natured laughter could echo like a bruise.

…

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

The conversation replayed in his head like a bad tape—Morgan’s words looping, the laughter echoing louder than it had in real-time. He knew, knew, they didn’t mean it to cut so deep, but it did. Not because it was true, necessarily, but because some part of him believed it might be. That maybe he wasn’t enough. Not worldly enough. Not man enough. Not good enough to keep someone like you.

So when he got to your place, there was no ritual. No careful organization. No meticulous unwinding.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Coat flung over the back of a chair. Shoes still on. Keys? Thrown onto the table without a second thought.

He didn’t call out for you. He didn’t stop to think. His whole body was thrumming, full of something frantic, aching, needy.

He found you in your office, sitting at your desk, focused and unbothered by the world unraveling outside your door. You barely had time to register the sound of his footsteps before he was there—pulling you out of your chair and into his arms like gravity had just given up.

“Spencer—” you gasped, your hands reaching up to steady yourself, to steady him, but the name barely made it past your lips before his mouth was on yours.

He kissed you hard, breathless and desperate and full of something wild. It wasn’t how he usually kissed you—not the slow, adoring kind. This was urgent. This was please and prove it and don’t go anywhere ever again.

“What’s up, baby?” you whispered against his lips when he let you breathe for a second, searching his face, already knowing something wasn’t right.

“Need you,” he murmured hoarsely, his hands already on your waist, sliding up your back like he couldn’t hold enough of you. “So badly.”

You blinked, caught in his intensity, your palms cupping his jaw as he dove back in—another kiss, this one softer but still tinged with desperation. His hands moved like he was afraid you’d disappear, like he had to memorize the feeling of you all over again in case this was the last time.

“Spencer,” you murmured, voice gentler this time, one hand finding his curls, the other pressed flat over his chest. You could feel his heart pounding. Racing.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what they said. Morgan. Emily. The way they laughed—like I’d missed out. Like there’s something wrong with me for not having… all those stories. And then I thought—what if you think that too? What if you’re just being patient? What if you’re settling for someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing, who’s boring, or… or disappointing?”

Your heart shattered right there in your chest because he said it with such rawness like the words had been pressing against his ribs for hours, maybe days, desperate to be let out.

His brow was still pressed to yours; eyes closed like he couldn’t bear to see the look on your face when you answered—afraid, deep down, that some part of his fear might be right.

“Baby,” you breathed, your voice caught halfway between shock and heartbreak, your hands gently cradling his face, “what are you talking about?”

He opened his eyes slowly, and they were glossy now, full of something unspoken, something tangled and bruised and fragile.

“I just—” he started, then shook his head, frustrated with himself, with the thoughts that wouldn’t let go. “They said it like it was funny. Like I was some… monk. Like I’d never lived, never explored. And I laughed it off, but it got stuck in my head. I kept wondering if I’d missed out on something. If you felt like you were missing out.”

Your mouth parted to respond, but he kept going, like now that it had started spilling out, he couldn’t stop. “I know I’m not like other people. I know I can be awkward and too intense and not very spontaneous. I like routines. I like structure. I don’t know how to do the whole flirty one-night thing, and I never wanted to, but I also don’t have some grand collection of stories or past lovers or wild memories. I have you. And maybe I’m scared that’s not enough for you.”

You stared at him, chest aching, your thumbs brushing along his jaw as you tried to hold in the tears forming behind your eyes—not from hurt, but from how deeply he was hurting.

“Spencer,” you whispered, pulling him close until your foreheads touched again. “You are enough. You are so enough, baby. You are the most thoughtful, attentive, ridiculously loving man I have ever known. If you think for even a second that I’m missing out, then you really haven’t been paying attention to how obsessed I am with you.”

His breath hitched. “But they—”

“They don’t know us.” You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Spence, I don’t want the stories. I want you. I chose you. Again and again, I would, and I will choose you.”

He swallowed hard like the words you’d just given him were something he hadn’t expected to receive—something he didn’t quite know how to hold without shaking. His eyes were still wet, dark, and glistening as they searched yours, wide and aching with hope he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely there as if it might break if he spoke any louder. There was something so young in the way he asked, so open and raw, like some forgotten version of himself was still standing there, waiting to be told he was too much, or not enough, or somehow both.

Your thumb brushed the side of his cheek with a gentleness you didn’t even know you possessed until you met him. And with your lips inches from his, you whispered back—

“I mean it as much as I do when I say I love you.”

You didn’t blink. You didn’t smile or try to soften it. You just said it the way you meant it—honest, unwavering, full.

Spencer stared at you for a long, still moment as if trying to memorize the shape of those words on your face. Then his arms tightened around you suddenly, pulling you flush to his chest like he could hide you in his bones like he needed to protect this feeling from ever being pulled away again.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You could feel it with every word—how much he needed to say it now, not because he thought you didn’t know, but because he needed to believe it was real again. That someone could know him like this, down to the soft, sensitive, tender center of him, and not walk away.

“I’m not settling,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re it, Spencer. You're everything.”

His hands trembled just slightly as they threaded into your hair, and he kissed you again, more like a promise than a need this time.

And he stopped thinking about that conversation for the first time in hours—maybe days. Because nothing they said mattered anymore. You were his truth now.

“But…” you started, your voice soft and trailing off, like you weren’t quite sure if it was the right moment. Spencer pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you with those wide, earnest eyes, already on alert. He searched your face like he was bracing for another blow, some revelation that would unravel all the reassurance you’d just given him.

You saw the nerves there—always just under the surface with him—and your heart ached with affection. So you softened the weight of the moment with a gentle smile, tilting your head and raising your brows with playful mischief.

“If you still want me…” you said, voice dropping just enough to hint at something less heavy and a lot more suggestive, “…I’m right here.”

And then you wiggled your eyebrows dramatically.

For a second, Spencer blinked at you, caught off guard—until the realization hit, and he let out an actual, genuine laugh, rich and real, the kind that melted the last traces of tension from his shoulders.

He leaned in slowly, letting his nose brush yours, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I always want you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and warm.

You felt the hum of it in your chest, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as you leaned into him again. “Even when I’m annoying?”

He kissed you once, then twice, like punctuation. “Especially then.”

You giggled, your foreheads pressed together, your noses brushing as you whispered, “Even if I don’t have a wild backstory and a cowboy hat?”

“I’ll buy the hat,” he grinned.

“You’d look terrible in a cowboy hat.”

“And you’d still want me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, hands wrapped around you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And maybe you were.

Spencer’s hands moved without urgency, just steady and sure, like he was mapping every part of you he already knew by heart—reaffirming that yes, you were here, and yes, you were his, and yes, you wanted him just as much.

His palms slid along your back in slow, grounding strokes, fingers pressing into your muscles with the kind of gentle care that made you sigh into the kiss, your body melting against his. You could feel the way his fingertips flexed—like he wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you, trying to say a thousand quiet things all at once with nothing but the movement of his hands.

You hummed softly, lips parting against his in a breathless murmur of contentment, and just as you were leaning further into the kiss, his hands drifted lower.

Down the curve of your spine. Down to the swell of your hips. And then—

Both of those big, warm, sturdy hands settled on your ass, squeezing gently before he started kneading with slow, purposeful pressure like he had all the time in the world.

You broke the kiss with a quiet, needy whine, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Spencer…” you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for—just overwhelmed with how good it felt, how expressive he was being.

He only smiled, his forehead still pressed to yours, his thumbs stroking slow circles against the fabric of your pants as he spoke in a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You like that?”

You gave a small, breathless laugh, eyes fluttering half-closed as your hips shifted instinctively under his touch. “You’re lucky I love you. Anyone else, and I’d be filing a formal complaint for being so handsy.”

“Mm,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “Good thing I’m yours then, huh?”

His hands squeezed again, just a little firmer this time, and the warmth in your stomach curled tighter.

“God,” you muttered against his throat, “you are so repressed until suddenly you’re not.”

He chuckled into your skin, the sound deep and warm and intimate. “Just needed to be reminded you’re not going anywhere.”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes, fingers stroking gently at his curls. “Spence,” you whispered, smiling softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed you again like a thank you. Like a promise. And then he kissed you again, just because he could.

This was new.

Not the wanting—he always wanted you, always looked at you like you were the safest place he’d ever known. Not the intimacy either—you’d memorized the shape of his affection over time, the soft way he kissed you good morning, the slow, reverent way he touched you like he was reading a favorite passage over and over again.

But this—this was different.

This was Spencer stripped down to something raw and instinctive, something that didn’t think twice, didn’t second-guess or calculate or stop to breathe. It wasn’t the soft hum of his love—it was the ache. The heat. The urgency that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with how much he missed you. Needed you.

He had walked through the door, and in that instant, the world narrowed down to you.

No bag hung up. No coat carefully folded. No slow exhale as he sanitized his hands or washed away the day.

He’d tossed everything aside like it didn’t matter—and to him, right now, it didn’t. All that mattered was you.

And now here he was—holding you like he couldn't stand even a molecule of air between your bodies, kissing you with something fierce in his mouth, something that tasted like longing and relief and the echo of every moment he’d spent thinking what if she thinks I’m not enough?

But he wasn’t thinking anymore.

There was no mental filing system running in the background, no tallying glances, no hesitation as he moved his hands from your back to your ass and touched you with the kind of surety that had your breath catching.

Spencer Reid was making the first move. Spencer Reid—whose fingers usually trembled with careful reverence—was now gripping you, pulling you closer, like he needed to remind himself you were real and his and here.

And for once, he wasn’t checking to see if it was okay. He wasn’t reading your expressions like a case file. He wasn’t trying to solve you.

He was just feeling.

Driven by want. By love. By the low, possessive ache of missing you too much for too long.

And you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

You barely managed a breath. “Spencer…”

But he kissed you again, cutting off whatever else you were going to say, hands gripping tighter like he couldn’t bear to let go. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke, lips brushing yours as he whispered—

“Need you.”

Another kiss.

“So badly.”

There was no doubt in his eyes now. No fear. Just hunger. Warmth. You.

This wasn’t the moment he fell in love with you. He already had.

This was the moment he let himself have you. Not carefully. Not hesitantly.

But fully. Completely. Now.

“Oh—okay,” you sputtered, your voice breathy and barely coherent as Spencer’s mouth moved lower, tongue warm and wet against the soft skin of your neck. He kissed you there with a kind of focus that made your knees feel untrustworthy, his lips sucking gently just beneath your jaw, tongue flicking over the mark he left behind. Your head tilted without conscious thought, already giving him more access, and your hands clutched at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

But then he paused. You felt it in the shift of his breath, the faint hesitation in his hands. Not out of doubt—no, not anymore. Out of deliberation.

Spencer huffed softly, almost frustrated with himself, forehead resting against your collarbone as he breathed in deep, trying to center himself. He was never this forward, never this commanding, and it was clearly throwing him off for a second.

Then he lifted his head, pressed his lips to your ear, and in the lowest, softest tone, said, “I’m going to shower.”

You opened your mouth to protest, heart thudding, already missing his warmth—“Spence, wait—”

But his hand came up, gentle but firm, covering your mouth with one broad palm, effectively silencing you.

“No,” he murmured, meeting your gaze with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m going to get clean before we continue.”

Your eyes widened, heart hammering now for an entirely different reason. There was no teasing glint in his eye, no nervous laughter. Just calm certainty and the weight of intention behind his words.

You nodded beneath his hand, slow at first, then faster, your face burning with heat as his fingers brushed your cheek, thumb lingering just shy of your lips. You could feel how flushed you were, how needy—his sudden authority was so quiet, so natural, that it wasn’t even about the tone. It was about him.

“Good,” he said softly, nodding once in return. His hand slipped away, leaving your lips tingling. “While I shower, I want you to log out of your computer,” he murmured, voice a warm ribbon against your skin. “Then I want you to go wait for me in the bedroom. Can you do that for me?”

You whined, your throat catching on the sound, and you nodded again—eager, trembling, soaked.

He smiled, and even that was gentle, but his eyes had darkened with something deeper, something you weren’t used to seeing from Spencer—but loved.

Without another word, he kissed your temple, then backed away, his fingers trailing down your arm like he didn’t want to leave but had to.

“I won’t take long,” he said, walking backward toward the bathroom, watching your dazed, needy form with an expression that was already promising more.

And you? You didn’t move for a solid ten seconds after the door shut. Just stood there, breath shaking, heart pounding, thighs pressed together.

Then—obedient, aroused, and wholly overwhelmed—you walked toward the computer.

Log out. Bedroom. Wait.

You'd never followed instructions faster in your life.

Spencer had never taken a faster shower in his life. No overthinking, no triple-wash rotations, no alphabetizing of shampoo bottles or lingering beneath the spray with his eyes closed and the world churning in his mind. Tonight, it was all function—scrub, rinse, done. Because you were waiting.

Waiting like you wanted him. Like he was allowed to take. And God, did he want to take.

He toweled off quickly, wrapping the fabric low on his hips, water still clinging to his skin in rivulets that caught the dim bathroom light. He barely looked in the mirror. He didn’t need to. His feet carried him straight out of the bathroom like he had a gravitational pull toward you, eager and electric.

He reached the threshold of the bedroom, breath catching the second he saw you. And everything in him went still.

You were sitting in the center of the bed, cross-legged like something carved out of a dream—soft light from the bedside lamp casting golden shadows over your bare shoulders. You clutched a pillow to your chest, arms wrapped around it, chin resting lightly on top, eyes wide and glowing.

But it wasn’t the posture. It was what wasn’t there.

From behind that pillow, there was nothing. No straps, no sleeves, no hem. Nothing to hide behind but the downy shape of the pillow—and your teasing, trembling confidence.

Spencer’s breath left him in a rush like it had been yanked from his lungs. His fingers flexed instinctively at his sides, nails lightly digging into the soft terrycloth at his hips.

“Darling…” he said it like a prayer, like a plea, like a man trying to keep his soul tethered to his body. His voice cracked ever so slightly. “Is there… do you have anything on?”

You tilted your head, biting your bottom lip with the most innocent look like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to him. And then, without a single word, you shook your head.

No.

Spencer inhaled sharply through his nose, a sound half desperate, half reverent. He took a slow step forward like he wasn’t sure whether to drop to his knees or just stand there and stare.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, “you’re gonna make me forget how to speak.”

You just blinked up at him, lashes fluttering slightly, still hugging the pillow to your chest like you were shy—though the playful twitch at the corner of your mouth said otherwise.

He ran a hand through his damp curls, chest rising with each deep breath, trying to keep control of the fire simmering just beneath the surface. You had listened. You had waited. And now here you were, offering yourself with that look like he could do anything and you’d say please.

“Are you teasing me?” he asked softly, taking another step closer.

You hugged the pillow tighter, lips curving into a guilty smile. “A little.”

His eyes darkened.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, and something about the way his voice dropped—low and sure and just a little wicked—sent goosebumps racing up your arms. He was close now, close enough that you could see the rivulets of water still trailing down his chest, the way his curls clung damply to his forehead, the flush of heat rising up his neck.

He wasn’t shy right now. Not uncertain or hesitant. This wasn’t the man who asked for permission at every moment. This was the man who’d spent the last week thinking about you. Who had walked through the door and claimed you with his mouth. Who had told you what to do and watched you obey.

And he was still in control.

His fingers slid under the edge of the towel at his hips, knuckles brushing his skin, slow and deliberate. His gaze raked over you like he was starving, and you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

“Because now,” he murmured, taking one step closer, “I can finally repay you.”

You felt it like a chord pulled taut between you—the anticipation, the heat, the hunger wrapped around something deeper. Not just lust. Craving. Possession. Worship.

Your breath hitched, hands gripping the pillow tighter, but your thighs pressed together under it involuntarily, betraying how completely undone you were by the sight of him like this—wet, bare, confident.

“Repay me?” you echoed softly, trying to sound coy, but your voice trembled.

Spencer’s eyes flicked up to yours, and his smile—God, that smile—was all promise.

“For all those times,” he started, letting the towel drop silently to the floor, forgotten. He stood there without shame like he already knew you couldn’t look anywhere else. “For all those times you touched me, kissed me, looked at me like you do, and made me beg for it. For making me want you so bad I couldn’t even get through a full shower.”

You swallowed hard, lips parted.

He leaned in slightly, hands coming to rest at the edge of the mattress, bracketing your knees. “Put the pillow down.”

You blinked at him, and he raised an eyebrow in quiet command. “I want to see all of you.”

You threw the pillow.

His breath caught. And then he was moving.

Spencer kissed you like a man possessed—nothing careful about it. No hesitation, no gentle build. Just heat and hunger and the wild ache of missing you pressed into every inch of your mouth. His lips were rough against yours, breath warm and heavy as he claimed you all over again with just his mouth.

Then his hands—those beautiful, skilled, big hands—came up to your shoulders, steady and sure. He broke the kiss only to guide you gently, reverently, down onto your back, your hair fanning out over the pillows as he followed your descent until your spine hit the mattress with a soft sigh.

You reached for him again the second he pulled away, lips parted in protest, already pouting. “Spence—”

But he was already rising, standing tall again at the foot of the bed with that look on his face. The one he got when he was running through a theory in his head, all focused intensity and faint amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching like he knew something you didn’t yet.

You watched in confusion as he bent down, plucking the discarded towel off the floor. “What are you doing, baby?” you asked, blinking up at him, breath still uneven.

He straightened and looked at you with the kind of soft determination that made your chest squeeze. “You’re going to lift your hips,” he said matter-of-factly, walking back toward the bed, towel in hand, “and I’m going to put my towel under you.”

Your brows furrowed, heat crawling up your neck. “Wh–what? Why?” you asked, your voice going small. “Am I… too messy?”

You sounded shy. Embarrassed, even.

Spencer just chuckled, low and warm and affectionate as he knelt one knee onto the bed and leaned forward, brushing his nose gently against yours. “No, darling,” he whispered, lips grazing yours in a kiss so soft it almost broke you. “But you will be.”

And then he smiled—sweet and so smug—like he’d already made you come twice in his head and was just now getting started.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together. And your hips lifted.

As soon as the towel was nestled beneath you, Spencer’s hands smoothed over your hips with a kind of care that contrasted sharply with the fire simmering just beneath his skin. He settled between your legs with a reverence that made your heart ache, eyes dark and steady as they trailed down your body like he was studying a sacred text.

And then he began to kiss.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, the crease where your hip met your stomach, the delicate line of your navel. Each one slower than the last, parting your skin with warm breath and tongue, worshipful in a way that made your breath catch in your chest.

He was so focused, not distracted, not looking for affirmation. Just there, completely absorbed in the act of being close to you. Of learning you. Of claiming this new part of you for himself.

But still… your heart fluttered with nerves. A pang of insecurity twisted in your chest.

“Baby…” you murmured, voice shaky, half-laced with awe and half with hesitation. Your fingers brushed through his curls, trying to tether him, your voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to.”

He stilled at the bottom of your stomach, lips warm against your skin, hands gently cradling your hips like they were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours, his expression unreadable for a moment—serious, but not cold. Just concentrated.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said softly, voice like velvet, slightly hoarse. “But I want to.”

You swallowed, lips parted.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss just above your hipbone, the gentlest kind of reassurance.

“I want to learn every part of you,” he whispered. “Not just the ones we’ve already explored. I want to know what makes you breathe harder. What makes you loud. What makes you fall apart.”

You whimpered then—just from the words.

Spencer’s lips twitched, eyes full of quiet, contained hunger.

“I’ve thought about this,” he continued, breath ghosting lower, hands still firm on your thighs. “About you. About how you’d taste. About how you’d sound when I finally got to make you feel good like this.”

You exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed.

“And if you’re nervous,” he said gently, “that’s okay. But I’m not. Not anymore.”

He pressed one more kiss just beneath your navel.

“Let me show you how much I want this,” he murmured. Then his mouth dipped lower. And you forgot how to ask him to stop.

His mouth dipped lower—slow, deliberate, reverent—and your breath caught in your throat so fast it almost hurt. You were trembling, just slightly, with the anticipation of it, your fingers still tangled in his curls, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away, just holding on like you weren’t sure what would happen when he finally reached you.

Spencer’s hands stroked slowly along the outside of your thighs, thumbs brushing upward in long, soothing arcs, grounding you. You could feel the way he wanted this—his touch wasn’t frantic, wasn’t hurried. It was intentional. Every movement, every breath, every kiss, like a declaration.

And then—finally—his mouth reached where you needed it.

He started with a soft, exploratory kiss, his lips pressing gently against the most sensitive part of you, and you gasped, hips jerking slightly. His hands tightened around your thighs, just enough to steady you, but not to restrain you.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Spence…”

He hummed, low and content against your clit, and the vibration of it traveled through you.

He looked up once, just briefly, to check on you—and what he saw made his breath hitch. Your head thrown back, lips parted, chest rising and falling with shaky, shallow breaths. You were a vision. All flushed skin and trembling limbs, and you were his.

His hands slid further under your thighs as he settled in, fully committing now, and when his tongue flicked out to taste you—slow and precise—you whimpered, thighs twitching against his palms.

Spencer groaned. Deep and low in his chest, like he hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much like you had just become his new obsession.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice half-praise, half-need. “You’re already doing so good for me.”

And then he really got to work—slow, languid licks followed by teasing little swirls of his tongue, like he was trying to memorize what every reaction meant. Every little gasp. Every roll of your hips. Every shaky moan.

It wasn’t perfect—it was messy and unpracticed and full of a kind of eagerness that was unmistakably Spencer. But it was so good. Because it was him. Because he was paying attention. Because he wanted to give you everything.

Your fingers tightened in his curls as you let out a breathless, broken moan, back arching into the pillow, into the towel, into him.

“Spencer—Spence, oh my God—”

He moaned softly in response, like your pleasure was feeding something primal in him, and he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving with more confidence now, more pressure, more purpose.

He treated this like an experiment like you were his thesis and your pleasure, the final data set he had been born to analyze. 

If anyone asked him—if you asked him—he’d turn beet red and stammer something about just following instinct, maybe quote some outdated medical journal on female arousal, but the truth? The truth was that Spencer Reid had done his homework.

He’d read. He’d watched. He’d studied. Not just academically, but with purpose, with the quiet kind of obsession he reserved for the things he wanted to master. And right now, that thing was you.

You were already breathless beneath him, trembling from the waves of pleasure he’d pulled from you so far. But Spencer had that look in his eyes again—the one he got when he was chasing a theory, testing hypotheses in real-time. He’d seen what you responded to. He was collecting the data, building toward a conclusion.

So when he adjusted his grip on your thighs, anchoring them gently but firmly over his shoulders, and leaned in again, you thought you were ready.

You weren’t.

His mouth closed over your clit—not gently. Not shy. And then—he shook his head.

Your cry was sharp, ragged, pulled straight from your chest without filter or form. Your back arched off the bed, every muscle in your body drawn taut like a bowstring as pleasure burst through you, electric and dizzying.

“Oh my— Spencer!” you gasped, voice cracking as your thighs instinctively tried to close, but his arms were already bracing them open, holding you there, grounding you with a strength you hadn’t expected from someone who spent most of his time holding books, not bodies.

Spencer paused for the briefest second, blinking up at you in stunned, awe-struck wonder. You were writhing. Crying out. Your back was arched so high he genuinely worried for a split second you might hurt yourself—if not for the desperate way your hands clawed at the sheets and your breath came in gasping, incoherent strings of his name.

And then you said it—voice cracked and reverent and broken around the edges— “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

Spencer didn’t stop. He doubled down.

His mouth sealed over you again, this time with even more purpose, sucking and shaking, varying pressure like he was experimenting, chasing the formula for your complete and utter unraveling. And God, he was close.

You were incoherent. Wrecked. A shaking, crying mess of nerves and sensation, repeating his name like a litany, fingers in his hair, in the sheets, in the air, searching for something to hold on to while your body tried to come apart under the weight of it.

He moaned into you—actually moaned—because he hadn’t known it could feel like this. Your pleasure was addictive, intoxicating, and he never wanted to stop chasing it.

When you came, it wasn’t a gentle fall. It was a collapse like your body couldn’t hold itself together any longer. Your voice was gone, your thighs shaking, and all you could do was ride it out.

But Spencer hadn’t stopped.

You were still trembling—breathless and glassy-eyed, your limbs splayed out like you’d just been unraveled and your soul hadn’t quite returned to your body yet—but Spencer? Spencer was locked in. Focused. Eager. Insatiable.

His mouth remained sealed to you, tongue still lapping in slow, methodical strokes like you were his favorite dessert, and he wasn’t done savoring every last drop. And maybe he hadn’t realized.

No, you realized, he definitely hadn’t realized.

He hadn’t realized you’d just had a full-body clitoral orgasm. That you were already spent, flushed, and shaking from the inside out. Because to Spencer, this wasn’t the end. This was still data collection. Ongoing results. Field research.

Your hips gave a weak jerk beneath him, overstimulated but helplessly pliant. You tried to lift your head, tried to warn him with a broken, “Spence—baby—I—I already—”

But your voice dissolved into a moan as he gave another slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over your still-pulsing center. Your body flinched, caught in the strange limbo of pleasure and overwhelm, but Spencer didn’t pause—he moaned, and the sound vibrated through you, making you shudder again.

And then you saw it.

You felt it.

The slight shift of the mattress. The tension in his thighs. His hips grinding down into the bed. Not frantic—rhythmic. Slow. Purposeful.

Your dazed eyes dropped to where his body pressed into the sheets—Spencer was grinding into the mattress, his cock rigid and leaking, caught between his stomach and the bed as he rutted against it with the kind of desperate need he probably didn’t even realize he was showing. All while still licking you with the same kind of focused obsession he brought to his most complex theories.

The sight nearly took your breath away.

He was lost in it—eyes half-closed, one hand gripping your thigh tightly, the other splayed possessively over your stomach, holding you down, holding you here as he licked and licked like you were everything he’d ever wanted.

And maybe you were.

“Oh—Spencer,” you gasped, voice caught somewhere between awe and overstimulation, your fingers sinking into his damp curls again. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me—”

He finally pulled back—barely—his mouth glistening, lips swollen, breath ragged as he looked up at you with dazed, reverent eyes. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and his voice was hoarse, hungry when he spoke.

“You taste—so good,” he whispered like it was a revelation. “I can’t stop.”

You whimpered, your back arching again just at the sound of his voice.

And still, you could feel the soft thrusts of his hips into the mattress, like he couldn’t help himself. Like just being here, having you like this, tasting you, was enough to drive him to the brink.

And it hit you clear as day—this wasn’t for your pleasure only.

Spencer Reid was getting off on this. On you. On making you fall apart again and again. On turning every theory into practice.

And God help you—you were ready to let him keep going.

Spencer ate like a man starved. Not of food, but of you—the taste of you, the sound of you, the way your body responded to his every touch like it was made to be deciphered by him and him alone.

He experimented—slow flicks, gentle suckling, broad strokes of his tongue that made your thighs twitch and your toes curl. He noted every whimper, every little gasp, every sudden grab at the sheets with the quiet, terrifying brilliance of someone who didn’t just want to please you—he wanted to master you. Completely.

And then, when you were already trembling and slick with sweat, eyes half-lidded and barely able to breathe, he brought his fingers into the mix.

Two long, elegant fingers—ones that had flipped through a thousand pages and solved puzzles most couldn’t dream of—slid up and pressed directly against your clit, rubbing furiously, while his tongue pushed inside you with an intensity that made your thighs snap closed around his head like a vice.

The world fractured.

You cried out—screamed, really—as your hips bucked wildly, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You weren’t just coming. You were thrashing, your entire body consumed by the overload, trembling violently as Spencer held you down and kept going.

He didn’t stop. Not when your thighs clenched. Not when your fingers yanked at his hair. Not even when your voice cracked trying to call his name through the chaos.

He moaned against you, drunk on your body, on the mess he was making, the slickness he was drinking down like nectar. His eyes rolled back as he kept thrusting his tongue into you, fingers rubbing your clit with that same maddening rhythm, chasing something deeper, more.

“Spence—!” you choked, the sound mangled by a sob, too far gone to form words, too sensitive to take anymore.

It wasn’t even about pleasure anymore—it was just too much.

You reached for him with shaking hands, every part of you trembling, legs twitching uncontrollably. “Baby— Spencer, I can’t—please, please—”

And even then, he didn’t stop until you grabbed fistfuls of his hair and physically pushed him away, your voice wrecked and teary as you cried out, “I need—I need a second—!”

Spencer pulled back immediately, breathless and wide-eyed, mouth glistening, curls messy and damp where your thighs had pressed against his head. His hands released you like he was afraid he’d gone too far.

You were panting, chest heaving, body covered in sweat and shivering from head to toe, the towel underneath you wrinkled and soaked.

He opened his mouth to speak—an apology, maybe—but your hand caught his cheek.

Your eyes met his, hazy but full of emotion. “That was incredible,” you whispered, voice hoarse and shaky. “But holy shit, Spencer.”

He blinked. “Did I—? Was that—?”

You gave a dazed, giddy laugh. “I had to push you off. That’s how good it was.”

He flushed instantly, eyes wide, pride, concern, and lust tangling across his face.

“Let me just—let me breathe for a second,” you added, still gasping as you pulled him down into your arms, your body too weak to do anything else but hold on.

Spencer melted into you without question, lips pressing to your cheek, jaw, and forehead. “Okay,” he murmured softly, voice wrecked but sweet. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

And he did. Every piece. And he wasn’t letting go.

You were blinking up at the ceiling, dazed and glowing.

And maybe later, Spencer would blush. Maybe he’d be shy, overthink it, and pretend he wasn’t proud of himself.

But right now?

Right now, Spencer Reid looked at you like he’d just discovered fire.

Spencer had his head nestled against your shoulder, still catching his breath from how completely he’d just wrecked you. His curls were wild, lips swollen, cheeks pink, but his hands had returned to their default setting: gentle, steady, anchored somewhere on your body like a reassurance that you were still here, still his.

Still real.

But even as he held you, your chest rising and falling in the aftermath, he lifted his head slightly to check in—eyes soft but searching.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, lower than usual, like the sheer intimacy of what had just happened had rewired something in him. “Still with me?”

You turned your head just enough to fix him with a tired, narrow-eyed glare, your voice still raspy but laced with teasing fire. “You’re not that good.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up immediately, a smug little smile blooming across his face as he shifted onto an elbow to look down at you. “I think I am,” he replied, way too pleased with himself, voice silky and satisfied.

You blinked slowly up at him. “Oh, do you?”

He nodded, eyes half-lidded, hair clinging to his forehead, looking every bit the genius who had just figured out a new way to make you lose your mind.

So you did the only thing you could do to wipe that smirk off his face.

Your hand slid down between your bodies, warm and sure, and wrapped around him—soft at first, fingers barely ghosting over his cock, which was flushed and heavy and leaking at the tip, still twitching slightly from the way he’d been grinding against the mattress earlier. Spencer let out a soft gasp, hips jerking almost reflexively.

But you weren’t done.

You pinched lightly at the tip, just enough to make him jolt with a strangled sound in the back of his throat, the kind that shot straight through you.

“Oh my—” he hissed, breath catching completely.

You began stroking him slowly, deliberately, the barest pressure over his most sensitive skin. You watched with a lazy sort of satisfaction as his eyelids fluttered and that smug expression crumbled, replaced by slack-jawed awe.

“Still feeling smug, baby?” you asked sweetly, your thumb dragging through the moisture at his tip.

Spencer whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

His mouth opened but no words came out, just a shaky breath as his hips bucked into your hand and his fingers gripped the sheets beside your head.

You smiled.

“Didn’t think so.”

You moved slowly down the bed then, with sultry purpose, eyes fixed on his like you knew exactly what kind of power you had—like you’d reclaimed every ounce of strength he’d taken from you moments ago, and now, you were going to use it to ruin him in return.

You trailed your hands up his thighs, soft and deliberate, and he was already shaking beneath your touch, eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving. Still flushed, still glistening slightly from his feverish grinding into the mattress, he looked like a man who had no business looking so undone.

And then you leaned forward—so close he could feel your breath against the head of his cock, tongue slipping out to just barely trace a circle around his leaking tip.

Spencer gasped, his hips twitching, one hand flying into your hair as the other gripped the edge of the bed for dear life.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, voice ragged. “You—oh, fuck—”

You didn’t answer. You just kept eye contact as you moved in slow, delicate laps, tasting the salt of him, flicking the very tip with the flat of your tongue until he was cursing under his breath and moaning freely—no longer quiet, no longer composed.

He’d come into this night feeling unsure, wondering if he was enough. But now? Now he was helpless. Vulnerable in the best way. Because you weren’t just giving—you were showing. Showing him what he did to you. Showing him how much you loved him. How much you wanted him.

You wrapped your lips gently around the head, sucking—soft at first, light pressure that had his whole body jolting. “Ohh— god, I—please—” he groaned as his fingers tightened in your hair, not guiding, just holding on.

And then, without warning, your mouth dropped lower.

Your tongue slid beneath him, your lips parting wider, and suddenly his balls were enveloped in the wet heat of your mouth.

Spencer cried out, his head thrown back with a choked sound that was more pure sensation than speech, thighs trembling under your palms.

“Nn—fuck, you’re gonna—” He couldn’t even warn you properly. He couldn’t think.

It was overwhelming. Too good. Too new. Too much.

You hummed softly against him—just enough vibration to push him that last little bit over the edge—and that was it.

Spencer broke.

He came with a cry, long and raw and completely unrestrained, his fingers twitching in your hair, hips stuttering as his whole body shook with the force of it.

You felt him pulse in your hand, warm and heavy and completely at your mercy, and still, you didn’t look away.

When he finally slumped back onto the bed, breathing like he’d just sprinted through a storm, his hand falling from your hair like his bones had melted, you leaned forward and kissed the inside of his thigh before slowly climbing back up beside him.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and wide.

“Wha—what just—what was that?” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.

You smiled, smug and sweet, curling up beside him and running your fingers through his hair.

“Field research,” you murmured.

Spencer let out a breathless, wrecked laugh and buried his face in your neck.

He wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.

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[callmeagardengnome]

✗ blood in the clouds ✗ | KIM HONGJOONG

pairings ✃ mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader

genre ✃ mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN

synopsis ✃

it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.

in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.

w.c ✃ 10.5k (yes im a yapper im sorry)

c.w ✃ dark themes, vivid descriptions of gore, guns and knives, kiss scene but no smut, use of the nickname ‘brat’, ‘pretty’ and ONE TIME - ‘princess’, your dad’s a dick oops, vulgar language, reader is smart

not proofread!

masterlist

white clouds drifted by the airplane window as the sky turned from a soft blue to a deep orange.

it would’ve been a pretty sight if it weren’t for the gun to your head.

you’d called in sick or put in your two weeks notice earlier if this was how your last day of being a flight attendant would end - but apparently, life hates you too much to let you catch a break.

HOUR 1 OF 7 - TAKEOFF

‘god- i can’t take this anymore,’ you thought to yourself. you hated waiting, despised it actually. 

after today, no more jet lag, rushed goodbyes or missing celebrations. you can finally unpack that suitcase for good, find someplace quiet and actually live in it. the thought alone was enough to keep you excited, but something bothered you at the back of your mind.

this trip didn’t feel right.

it wasn’t the plane itself, but your passengers? only 2 showed up in a plane that could seat at least 50 people. 

not that you were complaining. fewer passengers meant less work - which was a good thing. 

but the uneasiness you felt kept rising in your chest, no matter the times you tried to push it down. 

‘just 6 more hours,’ you thought. ‘then this will all be behind me.’

HOUR 2 OF 7 - MEALTIME

meal service started like any other: boring. 

after handing out the trays, you pushed the trolley back to its place and returned with beverages. you plastered on your most professional smile as you walked over to your passengers. “would you like a drink?”

the man with sunglasses turned to you lazily, his eyes shifting from the trolley to your face. “what do you have?”

you sighed, quietly but deeply. you had that stupid list engraved into your mind by now. “water, coffee, tea, coke, spri-” 

“-do you have alcohol?” he cut you off. 

your eye twitched. this dickhead.

first of all, he interrupted you. and secondly, you didn’t mention the alcohol on purpose. it was stored at the back of the plane and you did not have the energy to drag it out. 

“uh hongjoong- i mean, boss-“ the guy next to him whispered hurriedly. “i don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“-i think it is,” hongjoong interrupted before turning back to you. “where’s the menu?”

you gave him a forced smile as you pushed the alcohol menu towards him. he took his time with it, flipping through the pages slowly before finally saying, “two shots of whiskey.”

“sure thing,” you snatched the menu back. with a swift turn, you fetched the whiskey and the glasses, returning back to his seat.

you poured and placed the two shots on his tray table. he took the glass and drank it in one go, setting it back down with a thud. 

hongjoong then turned his head towards you, eyebrows raised. “what?”

you blinked. ‘what’? just ‘what’? where's the ‘thank you’? 

you were losing your mind.

“nothing,” you muttered through clenched teeth, moving away before he could ask for anything else.

grade A asshole.

HOUR 4.5 OF 7 - POINT OF NO RETURN

the shitty in-flight wifi was a joke as always. why did you even try?

with an annoyed sigh, you shoved your phone into your back pocket when suddenly-

static.

its piercing sound followed by faint garbled voices on the intercom startled you. you frowned as the sound continued, getting louder and more distorted.

with a groan, you stood up, straightening your uniform. ‘what are they doing?’ you thought as you walked towards the cockpit.

but when you passed by the first-class cabin, you paused. the seats were empty. both passengers were gone. ‘weird…’

things only got weirder as you approached the unlocked cockpit door. 

concerned, you pushed it open.

the smell hit you first - a metallic tang that twisted your stomach.

then your eyes caught up.

blood splattered the walls and windows in chaotic streaks, dripping down to the controls and the carpeted floor. the pilot and co-pilot laid in a gruesome pile to the side, the jagged holes in their skulls grotesque. 

a guy sat at the controls, steering the plane as though he wasn’t surrounded by horrors. 

grade A asshole- no, hongjoong, sat cross-legged on the floor, his sunglasses shattered at his feet. a gun rested in his hand and his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you enter.

“you’ve got to be kidding me..” you breathed out. 

pieces of brain and organ matter clung to the control panel as a simple blinking green light above that indicated that everything was, somehow, still functioning.

hongjoong tilted his head, amused. the gun shifted to point at what you now noticed was the crumpled bodies  of your pilots, their faces mangled in unrecognisable masses of flesh and bone.

“these your friends?”

you shook your head as you stepped back, wiping your sweaty hands on your uniform. hongjoong seemed to enjoy your reaction, his grin widening into something sickening. 

he smirked. “don’t worry, i won’t spoil that pretty face of yours.”

you coughed at the wretched smell as the crimson-stained carpet squelched beneath your heels, your mind begging you to leave.

“well-” you said, turning to the door. “i’m sure you don’t need me here, i’ll just-”

an audible click cut you off.

you froze.

slowly, you turned back to see a gun aimed directly at you.

“leaving so soon?” he raised an eyebrow. “let’s talk.”

HOUR 5 OF 7 - SKYDIVING DOESN’T SEEM TOO BAD

hongjoong dragged you to the first-class section to ‘talk’. it was the first time you’ve ever sat there and to be completely honest, this was not how you imagined yourself ‘enjoying’ it.

well, not like it mattered. you had other issues - like handcuffs locking you to the chair.

he stood infront of you, one hand gripping the gun while the other held a file. “‘____’, am i right?” he asked. 

you nodded slowly. “..that’s me.”

“3.6 GPA in university..” he muttered. “flunked out of med school during your first year..”

..how the hell did he get that information?

“you ended up as a flight attendant because your father owns the airline.”

“..yeah,” you reluctantly admitted, your stomach churning. “uh- was the med school part necessary?”

hongjoong ignored you, flipping to the next page. you watched his eyebrows shoot up as his eyes narrowed. “how close are you with your father?”

you blinked, confused by the weird question. “i mean- he’s my dad,” you replied. “but i haven’t seen him in years.”

“hm,” the sound came from him. hongjoong studied you for a moment longer before he spoke again, but this time, his voice was cold.

“do you know what he’s been doing during those years?”

your brows furrowed. “no, i-”

“killing. my. men.”

you didn’t even have time to process his words because he leaned forward when he said them, the gun uncomfortably close to your face. 

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “...are you sure you have the right person?”

his smirk widened into something eerie. “i have a gun pointed to you, don’t i?”

your pulse quickened. you couldn’t decide which was worse: the possibility that he was telling the truth or the fact that he was clearly enjoying your reaction.

“i always wanted to get back at that pig..” he held the gun up to the bottom of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “and look at how kind the world is- blessing me with his daughter.”

you struggled to breathe, to think. the handcuffs dug into your wrist as you unconsciously tried to break out of them, a clink against the metal arm of the chair.

your voice trembled. “..what do you want from me?”

hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. instead, he leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel your foreheads touching.

“what i want,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours. “is for your dad to suffer.”

HOUR 6 OF 7 - SURPRISINGLY ALIVE

the stuffiness of the plane did little to calm your nerves. you sat quietly in the seat, staring at the shattered remains of your phone on the floor.

hongjoong snatched it from your hands a few minutes ago, grumbling about how ‘you don’t need devices’. great. just great. 

the sound of the cockpit door creaking open drew your attention. the other guy - or ‘pilot’, stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “boss.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “what?”

the ‘pilot’ moved closer to hongjoong, lowering his voice. “air traffic control was notified of our path,” he said quietly. “they know something’s off with the plane, but i have no idea how.”

hongjoong’s eyes darkened as he processed the information. then, he glared at you, like he was accusing you.

you scoffed. “you shot my phone, how would i even contact anyone?”

for a moment, the two of you locked eyes and you swear that you could see him debating whether to believe you.

the ‘pilot’ cleared his throat. “what should we expect?” he asked nervously.

hongjoong leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “the police.”

HOUR 7 OF 7 - SHIT IS GETTING REAL

“what the hell…” you whispered to yourself as you peered out of the window.

SWAT teams and federal agents stood in rows, their weapons pointed directly at the plane. flashing lights of red and blue lit up the empty airport. 

you turned away from the window, watching hongjoong pull out a burner phone from his jacket. his fingers typed something out before he suddenly snapped the phone in half, tossing the remains on the floor. 

“…who are you?” you asked quietly.

he raised an eyebrow. “you don’t need to know, pretty.”

your survival instincts told you to move, to do something. but the second you tried to stand, hongjoong shoved you back down. 

“stay seated until we land,” he said before tilting his head. “isn’t that your job?”

you rolled your eyes, gripping the armrests as you tried to calm yourself down and steady your breathing. 

but that was when you heard it - gunshots. 

“they’re shooting us?” you panicked, flinching with each sound. 

no answer.

“hey-“ you tried again, but was cut off by the tires hitting the terrain. 

the landing was rough - harsher than anything you’ve experienced as a flight attendant. the plane rattled like never before.

your chest tightened when it rolled over something particularly large. “what was that?” your voice cracked. 

no answer. 

when the plane finally came to a halt, you barely had time to catch your breath when hongjoong moved. in a blink, he uncuffed you from the chair, only to secure the handcuffs on your wrists once more. 

he brought you to your feet, pulling you so close that you could feel his breath against your ear. “don’t do anything stupid,” he hissed. 

the cockpit door opened and the ‘pilot’ appeared. he quickly unlocked the emergency exit and you saw the makeshift ramp that had been attached to the side of the plane. 

a van rested just outside of it, hongjoong dragging you towards the vehicle. you descended the ramp, the cool air hitting your face as you looked around. 

but that was when you saw it. 

blood. 

on the wheels of the plane, the dark colour leaving a fresh trail on the ground.  

“did you..” you gulped, your voice barely above a whisper. “did you run over them?”

hongjoong glanced at you. “i didn’t,” he shrugged. “the plane did.”

you stopped in your tracks, your feet stuck rooted to the ground as you stared at him in horror. how could he say that like it was no big deal? just who was this man?

“move,” hongjoong ordered. but when you didn’t, he clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “god- you’re such a brat.”

before you knew it, you were shoved into the back of the van. the ‘pilot’ closed the door with a loud slam and sat in the driver’s seat while hongjoong took the passenger’s seat up front. 

you met hongjoong’s eyes through the rearview mirror. his glare was sharp, acting as a warning to keep your mouth shut. you didn’t need to be told twice.

the van drove forward and you caught glimpses of city lights in the distance, slowly growing closer. civilisation - maybe you could get help. 

but against your mind’s wishes, you felt your eyelids getting heavy - and you did something that no one should ever do when they’re in a car with armed strangers.

you fell asleep.

HOUR 14 OF 7 - HIP HIP HOORAY YOU’RE NOT DEAD

you heard a voice whine. “why can’t we kill her?” 

“do you want boss to kill us?” you heard another reply.

your eyes fluttered open. your head felt heavy as the room came into focus, your stomach twisting. 

the space was dingy, poorly lit by a bulb hanging from the ceiling and an unnecessarily tall lamp on the ground. the walls were stained and the air stunk of blood.

you tried to move, only to feel tight ropes against your wrists and ankles. you were tied to a chair.

“i can’t believe we have to babysit the pig’s daughter,” a man with a knife groaned.

“calm down, wooyoung,” the other one sighed.

“calm down?!” wooyoung exclaimed. “yeosang got to fly a plane! how is that fair?”

“he has a license,” the second man rolled his eyes. 

“it’s still a plane, jongho-”

“shut up,” jongho interrupted. “the girl’s awake.”

both men turned their heads to look at you, the sudden attention sending a shiver down your spine. wooyoung’s grin stretched across his face as he got to his feet, jongho following behind.

“aw look who’s finally awake,” wooyoung approached, his voice childish. “you slept like a baby- and we didn’t even drug you!”

your heartbeat quickened as he leaned in close, his grin widening as he studied your face.

“i read your file,” he began. “you’re smart…” wooyoung paused, his eyes inspecting you and your ridiculous uniform. “and hot.”

your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to respond. “thank you-?”

“-what’s your favourite feature about yourself?” he asked, twirling the knife in his hands.

“uh-” your mind scrambled for an answer as he got nearer, the knife glinting. “i- my eyes?”

“your eyes,” wooyoung repeated, the grin stuck to his face. “good choice.”

he brought the knife closer, the cold steel trailing down the side of your face. you flinched as the blade hovered near your eye, your breath hitching.

“you’re going to answer all our questions,” he stated, almost in a sing-songy way. “and if you dont-”

he tilted the knife, now directly above your eyeball. “-i’ll dig those lovely pearls out of your sockets.”

your chest tightened, terror paralyzing you from head to toe. you couldn’t even breathe, every cell in your body pleading you to stay still.

“hey-” jongho tapped wooyoung on the shoulder, whispering. “uh.. boss said we can’t scratch her..”

“are you serious?” wooyoung scoffed. “then what’s the point?”

jongho bit the inside of his cheek, avoiding eye contact with his friend.

wooyoung groaned, throwing the knife to the ground with a strength that made it bend. “fuck this- torture isn’t even fun anymore.”

he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

silence was in the air until jongho cleared his throat awkwardly. he turned to face you. “uh..” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“change of plans.”

HOUR 15 OF 7 - DAY DRINKING IS FUN

you never imagined yourself in a hideout, drinking vodka with one of your captors - yet here you were. 

the whole thing felt absurd: a shaky barstool beneath you and a scuffed counter separating you and jongho. he poured you a shot he claimed was ‘very expensive’, before proceeding to chug most of the vodka from the bottle in a long gulp. 

your legs were untied now, though your wrists were still bound, the rope loose enough for your hands to rest infront of you. “what are we waiting for?” you asked. “hongjoong?”

jongho froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “don’t say his name,” he whisper-shouted.

you raised your tied wrists in apology. “okay.. what should i call him?”

“call him boss.. or mr kim.. or anything that isn’t his first name,” jongho said, his words rushed. 

you nodded slowly, looking at the man infront of you with mild concern. he looked even more scared than you did. 

then suddenly, the door slammed open. 

both you and jongho flinched, watching two figures stumble in. 

the first was a tall man - storming into the room. the second was him, hongjoong, clutching his side in pain.

“mingi- boss!” jongho panicked instantly as he ran to help the injured man. “holy- you’re hurt!”

“the pig called for backup,” mingi sighed heavily. 

you blinked, stunned as the sound of hongjoong coughing violently brought your attention back to the injured man. 

blood seeped through his fingers, staining his sleeves and skin. you don’t know what took over you, but you pushed yourself off of the barstool and rushed towards him. 

“what do you think you’re doing?” mingi stepped infront of hongjooong, his hand resting on his gun protectively. 

you glared at him. “do you want your boss to bleed out?”

mingi studied you. after what felt like ages, he exhaled sharply and stepped aside. “fine,” he muttered, keeping a hand on his weapon. 

you knelt next to hongjoong, trying to make him face you as you grabbed his arm. though, he snatched himself away from you quickly. 

you rolled your eyes. “i’m trying to help you, asshole. let me see it.”

hongjoong’s eyes pierced your soul. you could see the cogs in his head turning on whether he could trust you. 

a few moments passed before he finally faced you with a sigh, revealing a large gash on the side of his stomach - a wound created by knife. 

“i need water.” 

jongho blinked, clearly thrown off. “what?”

“to clean his wound..?” you explained. “get me water. now.”

jongho hesitated before snatching a bottle of water from a mini fridge. he pushed it to you, the little amount of liquid sloshing inside. “you should stay still for this,” you said before slowly pouring the water over the wound. 

crap- a gash this big needed a stitch. 

“untie me,” you said, holding your wrists up to your captors. 

jongho glanced at his boss worriedly for permission. hongjoong gave a small nod and jongho quickly pulled out a small knife to cut the rope. 

once free, you quickly looked around for something to stitch his wound with. when nothing looked remotely useful, your eyes dropped to your uniform - a skirt with a yarn trim. it wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

you began to unravel the yarn from the hem.

“what are you doing?” mingi asked, frowning.

“stitching him,” you sighed as your fingers worked hurriedly. “or do you want him to get an infection?”

hongjoong let out a groan, shifting uncomfortably. “just hurry.”

you finished unravelling it, but now you needed a needle. your hand instinctively reached up to your hair - pulling out a small bobby pin. it was definitely not as sharp as a needle, but you’re sure that hongjoong can handle his pain.

“shit- i need to sterilise this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“vodka,” jongho said instantly, grabbing the bottle and handing it to you.

you poured the small amount over the pin, letting it drip onto the floor. then, threading the yarn through the makeshift needle, you glanced at hongjoong.

“this will hurt,” you warned.

he looked at you with clenched teeth. “i don’t care.”

you placed a hand on his side to steady him, feeling the tension in his muscles as he tried to not flinch. carefully, you began to stitch the gash, each pull making him wince. 

when the stitching was complete, you tied the yarn and tore it off with your teeth - but the wound was still bleeding slightly.

you glanced down at your sleeves. without hesitation, you tore a strip of fabric free. you used it to dab away the excess blood, then folded the remaining fabric to wrap it around his side. 

“that should work. for now,” you sat back as you wiped your forehead with your arm.

“...you know how to treat people?” hongjoong asked, wincing slightly. 

you nodded slowly. “yeah.. i know the basics.”

“hm,” he tilted his head. “you’re more useful than i thought.”

you blinked. was a good thing or a bad thing?

“wooyoung,” he yelled out. 

a loud crash was heard in another room, followed by the muffled sounds of frantic movements. within seconds, wooyoung appeared in the doorway. 

“yes, boss?” wooyoung said out of breath, brushing off his shirt as he looked around the room. 

hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. instead, he looked you up and down, his lips twitching into what seemed like a smirk. “get her some actual clothes. we have an event to catch.”

HOUR 17 OF 7 - WORDS TALK BUT GUNS TALK LOUDER

“woah..” your eyes took in the building before you. glittering lights and an impressive exterior that was way more extravagant than anything you imagined hongjoong to be involved in.

he parked the car, the engine coming to a stop. before you could say anything, hongjoong stepped out of the car, closing the door shut. you scrambled to follow him, your heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up.

the two of you approached the man stationed at the door - a bouncer with a pen and clipboard.

without warning, hongjoong’s hand snaked around your waist, pulling you snugly against his side. you flinched at the sudden contact, but with how tight his grip was, there was no room for protests.

“ah, mr kim,” the bouncer greeted. “you made it.”

hongjoong offered a brief, fake smile before dropping it immediately. “let us in.”

“hold on now,” the bouncer said, flipping through the papers on the clipboard. “we can’t let her inside.”

hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “why?”

“new policy,” the man sighed, pretending to sound disappointed. “no more plus-ones.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. instead, he reached into his blazer, about to pull out a-

“nevermind!” the bouncer’s face turned pale. he stepped aside with a nervous laugh. “you’re all set- enjoy the night.”

the interior was breathtaking - chandeliers hung from high ceilings and round tables were scattered across the venue, draped in pristine white table cloths. 

“don’t eat or drink anything here.”

you blinked, nodding slowly at hongjoong’s words. “okay.. but why-”

“-and if you really want to stay alive,” he interrupted, his lips brushing your ear. “don't leave my sight.”

his voice sent a chill down your spine. “okay,” you mumbled as he brought you further into the room.

he led you to a seating area - though it looked more like a conversation pit, where an old man sat waiting. 

hongjoong released his grip on you to sit across the man, gesturing for you to follow. you hesitated briefly before settling next to him.

“mr kim,” the old man greeted gruffly. his eyes shifted to you, studying your face. “i see you brought someone.”

hongjoong gave a nod, glancing at you. “introduce yourself, brat.”

“oh uh-” you put out your hand reluctantly, forcing a polite smile. “i’m ‘____’.”

the old man’s eyes narrowed before they widened in realisation. “her father-“

“-i’m glad you noticed,” hongjoong cut in. he slowly reached into his blazer again, but this time, he actually pulled out his pistol. 

your eyes widened as he aimed it to your waist, the cold metal brushing your side. “wha-“

“w-what are you doing?” the old man’s face drained of colour, panic flashing in his eyes. 

hongjoong tilted his head. “let’s negotiate.”

“mr kim-“ the old man began, his voice cracking. “as his friend, you do understand that i have to tell him she’s here.”

“do it,” hongjoong shrugged, leaning back. his arm returned to your waist, pulling you to him as he tapped the gun against your side. 

“let’s see if he values his money more than his own daughter.”

HOUR 18 OF 7 - LIFE ISN’T FAIR

a loud crash echoed through the venue, making you jump. the sound of heavy footsteps grew violent with every second.

hongjoong’s hand tightened around your waist as he stood, dragging you up with him. “move.”

“wait-!” the old man called after you, but hongjoong didn’t stop.

his grip on you was firm, the barrel of his gun pressing against your stomach. you tripped over your feet, struggling to keep up his pace.

“where are you taking me?” you panicked as you glanced over your shoulder at the armed men closing in.

“to your father, princess,” he sneered, his voice mockingly sweet. 

“mr kim! stop right there!” 

you froze, whipping your head around. standing at the far end of the room, infront of a small army of armed men, was your father. 

“let go of my daughter,” your father ordered. he pointed a gun directly at hongjoong, his men following suit. 

your eyes glanced around the room - seeing guests cowering against the walls, some injured and others dead.

“i’m not giving up the brat until i get what i want,” hongjoong demanded.

“what you want is an impossible amount of money!” your father yelled, his grip on his gun tightening.

“impossible?” hongjoong’s eyes widened with craze. “you have more than $500 million tied to your name! did you think i’ll forget who you killed to get here?”

your blood ran cold. “dad.. you killed people?” you asked, your voice trembling as you looked at him.

for a split second, your father’s eyes softened, though that quickly disappeared with a scoff.

“if i didn’t, you wouldn’t have a roof over your head,” your father spat. “you were too stubborn to do anything after you dropped med school.”

the world seemed to tilt, your father’s words more piercing than any bullet. “but i didn’t-”

“-you did,” your father interrupted you. “i spent all that money bribing them just for you to fuck up.”

your heart sank as tears welled in your eyes. hongjoong noticed your reaction, his grip on the gun loosening slightly. 

“i’d appreciate it if you didn’t make my hostage cry,” he said. “do you really want those to be your last words to her?”

“shut up,” your father snarled, his finger close to the trigger. “i’ll say what i want. she’s too stupid to argue back anyway.”

the tears you held back spilled over and all you could hear was your dad shouting, “get her!”

HOUR 18.5 OF 7 - THEY WANT YOU SOO BAD

gunshots were heard in every direction, completely deafening. 

the pungent smell of gunpowder burned your nose as you stumbled, your legs barely holding you up. hongjoong shoved you to the ground, his hand against your back. 

“stay down,” he ordered you, raising his gun and firing without hesitation.

you flinched with every shot, watching in horror as armed men fell one by one with his aim. the world felt like it was spinning too fast and you could barely keep up.

suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm.

“stop moving!” your father yelled, his grip painful as he dragged you towards the exit.

“no!” you choked out, your heels digging into the floor in an attempt to resist. panic ran through your veins as your eyes darted around desperately.

your eyes landed on a fallen gun near your feet. you quickly snatched it, hands trembling as you tried to point it towards him.

“don’t make me do this!” you cried.

your father didn’t stop and without thinking-

-you pulled the trigger.

a bang was heard, followed by his rough scream as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh.

“oh my god,” you whispered, the gun slipping from your hands as tears flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks. you sank to the floor, staring at the blood pouring out of him.

“you bitch!” he shouted in pain.

out of the corner of your eye, you caught hongjoong watching you, something strange flashing across his face. was that.. surprise? pride? maybe he was impressed?

hongjoong fired a shot at an armed man without looking, moving to you quickly. 

“didn’t think you had it in you, pretty,” he looked over his shoulder. “but we need to leave.”

he led you to a small janitor’s closet near the exit. the narrow space smelled of bleach, but at least it was quiet.

hongjoong shut the door behind you and dusted off his blazer. without a word, his dark eyes inspected you, checking your shoulders and arms.

you stood motionless, too shocked to stop him as he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb wiping away the mascara-stained tears from your cheeks.

“nothing broken,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “no scars either..”

he pulled out a burner phone, typing something quickly.

“i- i just shot my dad,” your shoulders shook as new tears welled up in your eyes.

hongjoong glanced up from the phone, meeting your eyes. “..are you bragging?” he asked bluntly.

“what? he’s my dad-”

“-and he’s a dick,” hongjoong cut you off. “you might share blood, but that man clearly hates you.”

you hiccuped, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “...am i going to hell?”

hongjoong scoffed. “come on-“ he began, but stopped himself when he looked at you and the tears spilling from your eyes. “you didn’t kill him… you’re fine.” 

you opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you as he continued typing. “and even if you did,” he added. “you’re doing the world a favour.”

he smashed the burner phone onto the ground, discarding the pieces. he reloaded his pistol before turning back to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he led you through bodies and debris.

outside, a black van waited by the curb. hongjoong pushed you inside before climbing in after you, slamming the door shut behind him.

“drive,” he ordered.

as the street lights went past you, you slumped in your seat, completely exhausted. “where are we going?” you asked softly.

hongjoong studied you for a moment, watching your eyelids go heavy. “...go to sleep, brat.”

DAY 2 - OH HONEY I'M HOME

you woke up with a jolt. you sat up from the couch you laid down on, completely disoriented. your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. the hideout. 

relief and fear spread within you. you were safe - for now.

just then, a knock from the doorway made you jump. “didn’t mean to scare you,” a man said, leaning against the frame. “boss wanted me to check on you.”

you blinked. “i- okay,” you coughed to clear your throat, wincing at how dry it felt.

“i’ll let him know you’re awake.”

and with that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more.

though that didn’t last long. moments later, hongjoong entered. he carried a stool over, setting it down across from you before sitting. 

“how long did i sleep?” you asked hoarsely.

“a day,” he replied with a shrug.

your eyes widened. it was only then you noticed your attire - a baggy t-shirt replacing the outfit you were wearing before.

“who changed me?” you blurted out, heat rising to your cheeks.

“i did,” hongjoong answered. he noticed your flustered expression, tilting his head. “what?”

“did you-” you cleared your throat. “did you see anything?”

“i’m not a pervert,” he scoffed. “if it makes you feel better, you were changed in the dark.”

you fell into an awkward, heavy silence as you sat across each other. for the first time, there was no danger, no gunfire or anyone yelling out orders. just silence.

“your dad..” hongjoong began, speaking up. “wants you dead.”

“...what?”

he held up a cassette tape, tossing it onto the table between you, your hands trembling as you picked it up. hongjoong then brought out a cassette tape player, allowing you to hear your father’s voice.

‘mr kim, we’ve had our ups and downs, but i’m sure that we can agree on one thing - that bitch who shot my thigh is a liability. an idiot that made it this far because of me. she’s no longer my responsibility or family, so expect to find her head on a stick when you turn your back. have fun.’

“what the fuck..” you whispered shakily as it came to an end. 

“to be honest, your only purpose was to be a hostage.” hongjoong’s fingers drummed the edge of the stool. “and now that he doesn’t want you.. you’re useless-”

the world around you crumbled, his words making you feel worse. 

“-to him.”

your eyes widened, looking at him in confusion.

“you’re smart,” he shrugged. “and you stitched me.”

you blinked. “…where are you going with this?” 

“i want you to be an addition to my team,” he replied.

“do i have to kill people?” you blurted out. “or steal, or-”

“no,” hongjoong raised a hand to cut you off. “all you’ll be doing is treating my injured men. quite the opposite of killing.”

you frowned, furrowing your eyebrows. “why would you trust me with that?”

“because,” he said, leaning forward. “you have nowhere else to go.”

“that’s not true-”

“really?” hongjoong smirked. “do you know how many businesses your dad owns?”

you shook your head.

“more than 80% in the country,” his eyes sparkled with something dark. “now that you’ve shot him, you’ve burnt every bridge he’s built for you.”

your jaw dropped. “but-”

“no job, no family, nowhere to live either since he owns most of the real estate here.”

you stared at him, struggling to process his words.

“here’s my offer,” hongjoong continued. “you get a decent amount of money, a place to live and protection...”

“...just to treat people?” you asked in disbelief.

he nodded. 

you bit your lip, staring at the floor as you picked at your nails. how could your dad do this to you? abandoning you just like that? and now he wanted you dead? you could feel yourself getting angry just thinking about him.

after a long moment, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “deal.” 

MONTH 1 - FAMILY BONDING 

that evening, you sat on the floor with san, wooyoung and yeosang, eating a batch of cheap instant noodles. it was a little awkward - mostly because you just joined, but you were silently appreciating their efforts to make small talk with you. 

suddenly, a loud bang was heard through the hideout. the three men jumped up immediately, pulling guns and knives from who knows where. 

“back entrance?” wooyoung asked as he sharpened his knives. 

your heart raced as you watched the three of them shift into combat mode - and you caught yourself lagging behind. you hurriedly stood up and grabbed the medical kit you kept close. 

“stay here,” san said firmly. 

you shook your head. “if someone’s injured, i’m coming.”

the three of them shared a look before yeosang gave you a reluctant nod. “…just stay behind us. we’ll get in trouble if you get hurt.”

they moved swiftly and silently through the narrow halls of the hideout, weapons in hand. you trailed closely, your heart pounding as you gripped the medical kit tightly. 

when you reached the back entrance, san motioned you to stay back while they checked the door. 

the signs of forced entry were obvious - the lock was broken and scuff marks lined the floor. 

wooyoung scoffed, speaking under his breath. “stupid piglets.”

yeosang sighed. “looks like they took a few weapons and left.”

“are they testing us?” san asked, inspecting a footprint on the ground. 

before anyone could respond, the door slammed open making all of you jump. you turned to see mingi, his chest heaving as he leaned against the door frame. 

“meeting. now.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the hideout’s ‘meeting room’ was more of a cramped closet with mismatched chairs and a comically large table in the middle. hongjoong paced at the end of the room, his jaw clenched. 

“we can’t stay here any longer,” he began. “it’s only a matter of time before they come back in full force.”

hongjoong stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “we need to move back to our old apartments. they’re scattered enough to keep us hidden until we figure out our next move.”

you shifted uncomfortably. 

hongjoong noticed this. “what?” he asked, his sharp eyes landing on you. 

“i uh-“ you hesitated. “i don’t have a home..” you said sheepishly. 

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. 

“my dad owns the house,” you admitted. “and that’s not really an option anymore.”

“right,” hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “shit..”

“alright, who has space?” he clapped, glancing around the room. 

everyone exchanged uneasy looks. 

“we don’t,” yeosang said, gesturing to himself, san, wooyoung and jongho. “the four of us are already crammed into one place.”

“same here,” yunho spoke up. “mingi and i barely fit in ours.”

hongjoong turned to seonghwa, his face hopeful. 

“no,” seonghwa said without hesitation. 

a heavy sigh escaped hongjoong as he pinched the bridge of his nose. he leaned against the table, deep in thought. 

minutes stretched into what felt like hours before hongjoong finally spoke up. “you’re coming with me,” he said, looking directly at you. 

your eyes widened in surprise. “..what?”

“you’re staying at my place.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the car sped down the (somewhat) empty highway, the faint smell of vanilla from the air freshener mixing with the lingering scent of old fast food. 

you gripped the edge of your seat as the streetlights ran by the window in a blur. “are we in a rush?” you nervously glanced at hongjoong. 

“no,” he replied flatly. 

there was a black car beside you that had been keeping pace for the past few minutes - and just as you shifted in your seat, it suddenly swerved infront of your car and slammed the brakes. 

“what the-” you barely managed to say before the impact. the car jolted violently as it hit the one ahead, the sound of metal crunching loud. 

hongjoong let out a low string of curses under his breath. his face was weirdly calm as he unbuckled his seatbelt, stepping out of the car without a word. 

“wait-” you scrambled to undo your own seatbelt. 

from your seat, you saw him approaching the car. the moment he glanced inside, his eyes widened. he reached for his gun and pulled the trigger instantly. 

the loud gunshot made you flinch and your stomach twisted as you saw the slumped figure in the driver’s seat, blood splattered across the windshield. 

your heart pounded as you stumbled out of the car, rushing towards him. “why did you do that?!”

hongjoong turned to you, his jaw clenched. “it was a piglet.”

“wha-“ your eyes drifted to the body, a shiver going down your spine as you saw the bullet hole clean through the skull. 

hongjoong, completely unfazed, went back to the car. you stared at the lifeless body for a moment longer before hurriedly following him. 

once you were back inside, you swallowed the lump in your throat, attempting to break the suffocating silence. “….how did you know he was a piglet?”

hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. his fingers flexed against the steering wheel as he glanced at you. 

“they have a bullet tattoo..” he said finally, pulling down his collar to point to his collarbone. “..right here.”

you blinked. “oh.”

“if you ever come across one,” he continued. “kill them on sight.”

your eyes widened, your throat tightening. “what about the police?”

he fell silent for a second, his eyes fixed on the road. then, a faint smirk crossed his face. “you don’t need to worry about them.”

his answer left you unsettled, but before you could question him further, the apartment building came into view. it was modern - standing tall with the city skyline. 

hongjoong smoothly pulled into the parking lot. the abruptness of the stop sent you forward, but his hand shot out instinctively, pressing against you to keep you steady. 

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice soft - though he didn’t look at you as he retracted his arm. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

some might describe hongjoong’s apartment as ‘minimalistic’, but to you, it’s just an excuse for a grown man to avoid decorating. 

the walls were devoid of any art or family photos, the kitchen was spotless - though it was definitely untouched with how there was almost no food in the fridge. and from what you saw, the only source of entertainment was a lone TV. 

“do you..” you began, looking around the bare space. “do you even live here?”

hongjoong ignored your comment and walked towards the big couch and began to pull it into a makeshift bed. the springs creaked slightly as he unfolded it. “this is where you’ll be sleeping,” he said, dusting himself off. 

“cool.”

“don’t complain-“ he stopped himself mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes when he realised what you said. “wait, you’re okay with this?”

you blinked. “…yeah?”

“hm,” he said, slightly surprised. he looked you up and down before turning to the long hallway. “get some rest, we’re getting you a phone tomorrow.”

MONTH 2 - LIVE LAUGH LOVE GUNS

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before the piglets attacked you again. 

hongjoong sent you on a simple supply run - nothing unusual. but as you stood in the small pharmacy, you felt the air shift when the cashier’s demeanour turned cold. 

it all happened so fast. 

the moment you saw the gun aimed at your chest, your eyes fell to the faint outline of a bullet tattoo peeking out from his collarbone. great. 

your breath hitched as your body moved on impulse. you barely avoided the first shot as you ducked behind the display rack. 

the pharmacy was strangely empty, no one else to intervene. your heart pounded as the sounds of footsteps and gunshots echoed. 

fumbling with your phone, you dialed every number you could think of. yet, no one answered. 

your hands trembled as you typed hongjoong’s number, your last resort. 

he picked up after one ring. 

“this better be important, brat,” he grumbled, groggy like he just woke up. 

“i need help-” you semi-yelled as you narrowly dodged another shot, darting behind the counter. “i’m getting attacked-”

“-send your location,” hongjoong interrupted. “i’m on my way.”

the line went dead before you could respond. 

you sent your location and shoved the phone back into your pocket. the cashier reloaded the gun, his footsteps growing louder. and just as you moved, he charged. 

he grabbed you, trying to pin you down. you barely managed to fight back, until you made an educated attack - kicking him in the groin. 

he groaned, stumbling back. you took the opportunity to snatch the gun from his hands. 

you pointed it at him, your hands shaking. “stay back,” your voice cracked. 

the man scoffed. “over my dead body,” he lunged at you again. 

your finger moved instinctively, pulling the trigger. 

once. 

twice. 

again and again and again. 

the sound of gunfire rang in your ears, the recoil sending waves through your arms. you didn’t stop until you heard a clicking noise that meant that the gun was empty. 

when you opened your eyes, he was no longer standing. 

you looked down, the cashier laying sprawled on the ground, the concrete dark with blood. bullet holes littered his body, evidence of your frantic shots. 

you dropped to your knees, your chest heaving. you reached out to check his pulse. nothing.

you just took someone’s life. 

your eyes fell to your hands, bloody and shaking. from young, you always wanted to save lives - not take them. tears fell from your eyes, blurring your vision. 

the door slammed open. 

hongjoong stood in the doorway. he took in the body on the floor and your frozen form in a single glance. he sighed, stepping in. 

“come on, let’s go,” he crouched to grab your arm. 

you couldn’t move, your eyes fixed on the lifeless body. 

“hey,” his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to meet his. his eyes were intense, his touch warm against your cold skin. “we need to leave before more show up. you don’t want to kill anyone else, do you?”

you shook your head quickly. 

he pulled you to your feet, wrapping his arm around yours as he guided you to his car. the ride back was silent as you stared out of the window. 

and before you knew it, you were back at his apartment. 

you hesitated at the door, unable to bring yourself to step inside. 

hongjoong sighed, grabbing your wrist as he tugged you in. he tossed his gun and his keys in the kitchen counter before turning to you. 

“go take a long shower. i’ll be in the living room.”

you nodded, moving to the bathroom in a daze. 

the water was scalding as it hit your skin. no amount of soap or scrubbing would ever make you feel clean from the bloodied-stains. every part of your body felt foreign - even your puffy eyes and lips.

once you were done, you dressed in the softest clothes you had, hoping that it would provide you with some form of comfort (it didn’t).

the pull-out couch was prepared with brand-new pillows and fluffy blankets when you returned to the living room. hongjoong sat on the edge, gesturing for you to sit. you sank down beside him. 

the silence stretched on until it became unbearable. 

you spoke up, your voice barely audible. “…i killed someone.”

“you did,” he nodded. “good job.”

your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “i killed someone.”

“and so have i,” hongjoong leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “does that bother you?”

“i…”

he leaned back. “it should. the first time always does.”

“i don’t think i can do this,” you breathed out shakily. “i don’t want to hurt people..”

the two of you locked eyes for what felt like ages. you could see hongjoong’s adam's apple bob up and down, his jaw tightening slightly. “no one wants to hurt people,” he replied softly. 

you blinked. 

“i shouldn’t have sent you out alone, especially with your dad targeting you,” he sighed. “that’s on me.”

“but-”

“-though i do have to say, this made me realise how.. unprepared you are,��� he continued.

your eyebrows furrowed. 

“if you want to survive, you need to know how to defend yourself,” he drummed his fingers against the couch. “...you’re off supply runs. from now on, you’re training with the others.”

you stared at him. “what?”

“the rest have some ‘schedule’ for training. i’m sure you can join without any problems.”

you hesitated. the thought of the blood, the body, the gun in your hands made you nauseous. the idea of training scared you. 

he noticed this, his eyes softening slightly. “you won’t be a killer, just someone capable of self-defense.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. finally, you nodded, your voice small. “okay.”

MONTH 3 - LET’S GO GAMBLING!

the casino was glitzy and loud with copyright-free music, its neon lights casting eerie shadows on the dark streets outside. 

“you three, cover left. you two, check the vault. the rest of you will stay near the exit,” hongjoong ordered.

you waited for your assignment, expecting to be grouped with someone. instead, hongjoong said, “you’re with me.”

you sighed. “alright.”

you followed hongjoong to the right side of the casino, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the space. he moved silently, keeping his gun concealed but ready. you tried to mimic his focus, clutching the knife wooyoung lent you earlier.

the first sign of trouble came when the alarms blared.

armed men swarmed into the casino. piglets.

hongjoong moved first, taking them down in a single shot. you ducked behind a pillar, your heart pounding.

the fight moved fast. hongjoong was precise - he wasn’t even touchable, killing the men easily.

but that was when you saw it before he did: a piglet creeping up behind him, raising and aiming the gun to his head.

“boss!”

without hesitation, you hurled wooyoung’s knife to the piglet.

the knife pierced and plunged into his neck, causing the man to fall, his gun clattering to the ground. 

hongjoong whipped his head around with wide eyes, shooting the man infront of him before spinning to kill the piglet you just hit.

the silence that followed was deafening.

hongjoong’s breathing was heavy as he lowered his weapon. he dusted his clothes off, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

he gulped, finally speaking up. “...good job, pretty.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

slowly, everyone regrouped in the corner, collapsing onto the floor in a circle. bottles of water were passed around as everyone caught their breaths.

for a while, no one spoke, the only sounds being an occasional groan.

“hey,” wooyoung hiccuped, breaking the silence as he turned to you. “give me my knife back.”

you looked at him awkwardly before handing him his completely bloody and dented knife - basically ruined.

“what the hell!” he exclaimed. “that was one of my favourites!”

you shrugged. “you shouldn’t have given it to me then.”

“i didn’t know you were actually gonna use it,” wooyoung complained. “i thought you would just watch.”

“you’re such a dick,” you rolled your eyes.

wooyoung leaned in closer - his voice annoyingly sweet. “aw, don’t be mad, sweetheart. i’ll get you a better knife- one that won’t bend in your delicate fucking hands.”

“shut up,” you groaned, shoving him lightly as the others chuckled.

hongjoong leaned against the wall, his arm crossed over his chest. his eyes shifted from wooyoung to you. 

his chest tightened in a now-familiar way: you’re fitting in too well.

it wasn’t jealousy - at least, that’s what he told himself. it was about control. your presence was a distraction he didn’t account for. but the others took you in so easily, which was technically a good thing, right?

and yet...

why did his stomach twist every time one of them smiled at you?

hongjoong blinked, realising how his leg was bouncing restlessly. he forced himself to stop, sighing deeply.

“you good, boss?” yunho asked.

hongjoong paused. “...i’m fine.”

yunho raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, turning away.

hongjoong’s eyes returned to you. you were leaning a little too close to yeosang now, laughing at some joke wooyoung said - sending a strange pang through his chest.

why did this bother him so much?

you weren’t doing anything wrong. you were building trust, meshing with the group - just like he expected.

but this wasn’t about the group, was it?

he frowned, thinking. you stitched him right after he kidnapped you, you saved him from getting shot even though you were definitely not ready to fight.

what has he ever done for you?

introduced you to a world of crime? to a world of killing, stealing and hatred? accidentally ruined the relationship between you and your dad?

hongjoong closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

shit.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

without bothering to change, you sank into the pull-out couch - exhaustion pulling you to it like gravity.

you heard hongjoong locking the door behind him, the soft click sounding loud in the quiet apartment. his footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing reaching your ears. you were way too tired to look.

you didn’t realise you drifted off until you were awoken by something heavy on your body.

your eyes fluttered open groggily. for a moment, you thought you were dreaming. hongjoong was in the middle of draping a large blanket on you.

“what are you doing?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

his eyes darted to yours briefly. “nothing.”

you frowned, shifting to sit up - but he placed a hand on your shoulder, pressing you gently back down. “sleep.”

you let out a quiet sigh. “shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you muttered.

he paused, his jaw tensing. “....tomorrow onwards, you’re training with me.”

you stared at him, stunned. before you could even say anything, he turned and walked away without a word.

…did your boss just tuck you in?

MONTH 3.5 -  PUNCH, KICK, SNARE

“again,” hongjoong said, slightly out of breath. 

the living room felt smaller than usual with the two of you moving around. the coffee table and couch was pushed aside, leaving just enough space to practice your punches without tripping over the furniture. he claimed training here would teach you how to ‘fight in tight quarters’.

he sighed. “your moves are sloppy.”

you groaned, shaking your aching wrists. “i’m trying.”

“that’s not enough when someone’s aiming a gun at your head,” he replied, stepping back and raising hands. “your punches are too weak and your balance is all over the place. reset your stance.”

you rolled your eyes but obeyed, repositioning your feet. it wasn’t the first time you’ve heard those words from him.

hongjoong moved closer, tapping your wrist. “keep your guard up. always.”

you threw another punch, but it barely made his hands move. he lowered them, sighing. “that’s not going to hurt anyone-“

“-i’m doing my best, okay?” you snapped. “i’m not a fast learner.”

his eyes softened for a moment before narrowing again. “that’s not an excuse when your life is on the line.”

you tsked. he was right of course, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“again.”

you tried once more, throwing a combination of punches that he blocked with ease. when you attempted a kick, you stumbled, nearly losing your footing.

he caught you instinctively, his hands steadying you.

“watch your balance,” he said automatically, going on a tangent on how training is important and blahblahblah. 

you tried to focus on your surroundings, on the words he was saying, but it was hard to ignore the proximity between you. the smell of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of sweat in the room. his touch wasn’t rough or aggressive like you’d expect - it was gentle.

your eyes drifted to his face, catching the faint scars along his cheekbones and jawline. were those always there? or was this the first time you really noticed?

his brows furrowed, likely in frustration at your lack of response, but the concern in his eyes snapped you back into reality, making you realise that you were staring the whole time.

“i don’t think i’m cut out for this,” the words spilled out before you could stop them.

hongjoong paused, his lips parting slightly - he wasn’t  expecting you to say that. for a moment, he was silent. he then leaned in, his eyes piercing. 

“you don’t get to quit.”

the intensity of his voice made you forget about the aches in your muscles and the sweat dripping down your back. his words weren’t angry - they were commanding. 

“why do you even care?” you whispered, barely audible.

his grip on your arms loosened slightly, his eyes searching yours for what felt like eternity. then out of nowhere, he stepped back, clearing his throat as he avoided your gaze. “take five,” he mumbled, walking to the kitchen.

MONTH 5 - BLOOD, BLOOD AND MORE BLOOD

the office building looked ordinary. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was just another corporate HQ. but you knew better.

and so did hongjoong.

you held up the new knife wooyoung gave you, one that wasn’t as pretty as the last. it was finally the day you ambushed your dad, the man that’s been wanting you dead for months.

you looked up to face hongjoong. “i don’t want to see it,” you said suddenly.

he raised an eyebrow. “see what?”

“when you kill him. my dad,” you clarified, your throat tightening. “i’m.. okay with it, but i don’t want to see it.”

his eyes studied you. after a moment, he nodded. “make sure to stay close to me,” he said before turning to the building.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the group slipped into the building through the side. hongjoong led the way, gripping his pistol tightly as you stayed close behind him.

“elevators are too risky,” hongjoong looked back at the group. “we’ll take the stairs.”

the group nodded, their weapons drawn as they moved quietly through the halls. the fluorescent lights did nothing to mask the sinister aura that was buried in the walls.

when you reached the stairwell, the sound of footsteps echoing above sent everyone into high alert.

the first shot rang out.

gunfire filled the stairwell. the air was thick with smoke and gunfire. you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to avoid all of the attacks happening around you. you tried to go in to fight but-

-someone grabbed you.

you struggled, twisting out of their grasp. but before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you away. “stay still.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the stench forced your eyes open - a horrid mix of stale cigar smoke and alcohol. the office was dimly lit and your father crouched infront of you, his face smug as he cornered you.

“you think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he sneered.

you glared at him, your heart pounding. “fuck off.”

a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “you’ve gotten worse since you joined that boy,” he spat. “should i cut off your tongue? unhinge your jaw? or maybe i’ll be basic and shoot you.”

“you’re insane,” your stomach twisted. “it’s hard to believe we’re related, especially with how ugly you are.”

“you-”

before he could finish, you jammed wooyoung’s knife into his other thigh, dragging it down to create a large gash. he let out a guttural scream, stumbling into a desk as blood gushed out of his thigh like a fountain.

you moved quickly, scrambling out of the corner, but two piglets grabbed you before you could get far.

“stupid bitch,” your father hissed, forcing himself up as he took out the knife in his thigh, looking directly at you. “you’re going to regret that.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

as hongjoong shot another piglet with his pistol, he looked around the haze, searching for a certain someone. “where’s ‘____’?” he asked.

the group stayed silent.

“shit- we don’t know,” wooyoung said nervously.

hongjoong’s face darkened - and without hesitation, he grabbed a nearby piglet by the collar, slamming him against the wall. “where’s your boss?” he snarled.

the piglet squirmed. “i- i have a family!”

hongjoong’s grip on his collar tightened, his eyes widening scarily. “then bring me to him.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“your mother should’ve gotten the abortion,” your father said before settling down infront of you, the bloody knife close to your face.

“i’m surprised that a woman like her fucked you,” you breathed out shakily as the blade hit your skin. 

“shut up-“

the door burst open as the knife grazed your skin. hongjoong stepped in, his gun raised. “let go of her,” he ordered.

the piglets hesitated, glancing between your father and hongjoong. your father’s hand didn’t move, a scar forming on your face. 

“you want her that badly?” your father asked mockingly. “you’re becoming soft.”

hongjoong didn’t answer. instead, he moved faster than you thought was possible, shooting the two piglets that held you with ease.

the bodies hit the ground - causing your father to shove you harshly against the wall. pain shot through your body as you heard something crack.

hongjoong froze, his pistol trained on your dad. 

“stay back,” your father warned, hovering the blade near your temple.

hongjoong’s jaw clenched. he dropped his gun slightly, making your father relax.

but then hongjoong lunged.

the fight was brutal, all punches and grunts. you slumped against the wall, your cheek bleeding uncontrollably as every part of your body ached.

after what felt like ages, hongjoong finally gained the upper hand, pinning your dad down as he pointed the gun to his head. but then his eyes landed on yours, wide and terrified - making him freeze.

“shit,” he cursed under his breath, lowering the gun. he turned and rushed to you, pulling you into his arms.

your father tried to crawl away, but hongjoong didn’t let him go far. with you in his embrace, he covered your eyes and ears tightly as the sound of a singular gunshot echoed in the room.

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. his hand cradled the back of your head, his touch soft. “it’s over,” he whispered as you sobbed.

you shook your head against his chest, the salt in your tears stinging the cut on your cheek. “i almost died.”

“i know,” he said softly. “but i wouldn’t let that happen.”

his words settled over you like a warm blanket. you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face. you could feel the heat of his body as he kept you close.

hongjoong shifted, his hands moving to your shoulders as he looked at you carefully. his thumb brushed over your scar, wiping away the trail of blood on your face.

“you’re shaking,” his eyebrows furrowed. “you need to breathe.”

“i’m trying.”

he reached for a nearby chair and pulled it over, guiding you to sit. hongjoong crouched infront of you, your hands trembling in his.

“you’re safe,” his eyes locked onto yours. “i’ve got you.”

something inside you cracked at his words - and tears spilled once more. hongjoong didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. he stayed crouched infront of you, letting you take all the time you needed.

when you finally looked up, there was something unspoken in his eyes - a mix of guilt and relief that made your heart ache. “...thank you,” you whispered.

his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words never came. instead, he nodded slowly, his grip on your hands tightening for a moment before letting go.

at that moment, you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. your lips brushed against his, just enough to make his entire body stiffen.

for a second, you thought you made a mistake. his hands paused midair and his breathing hitched.

but then, he moved. to you. 

his hands cupped your face gently, pulling you closer into a kiss. it was slow at first, but when you gripped his shirt tightly - the feelings he’d been keeping were let loose.

his lips pressed against yours with urgency. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. 

you responded instinctively. your hands found his neck, his jaw - brushing over them softly in a way that made him groan. “fuck- you’re so pretty.”

the world around you spun in swirls of blood, smoke and cologne, overwhelming you in a way that made you lose your breath.

hongjoong broke away for a moment, panting slightly. his lips curled into a smirk, before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less intense. it was grounding, reassuring and impossibly warm.

when the two of you pulled back, his thumb traced your scar. “this..” he began quietly. “..this isn’t what i expected tonight.”

you let out a soft, shaky laugh. “me neither.”

he pecked your forehead as he stood up, his legs slightly wobbly from the kiss. hongjoong held out a hand, helping you to your feet. “...let’s go home.”

series taglist - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2

author’s note: this is the first oneshot of my mafia series! yes it is long but i promise you that it does eat and that you’ll enjoy it. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!

BONUS SCENE - MINE

the apartment was quiet as you laid on the pull-out couch, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t coming - your mind was too busy replacing the events earlier.

the memory of hongjoong’s arms around you stayed, along with the feeling of his lips on yours. how could a man as dangerous as him bring you such comfort?

a soft knock against the wall broke the silence.

you sat up slowly, seeing hongjoong standing in the hallway. his hair was slightly damp and he wore a loose black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. he hesitated before walking to you, his movements weirdly awkward.

“...you okay?” you asked the nervous man.

he shrugged, trying to play it off as he sat next to you. “i’m fine. you?”

“i’ve been better.”

there was a pause as the two of you stared at each other, the silence heavy. finally, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“i’ve been thinking..” hongjoong trailed off.

“uh-oh.”

“i-it’s not a bad thing-” he said hurriedly. “it’s just that.. tonight made me think about a lot of things.”

you tilted your head, confused.

his voice softened as he continued. “but this isn’t just about tonight. it’s about.. everything. i don’t want you to feel.. unsafe all the time.”

“i don’t,” you said instantly, but you’re not sure how much you believed yourself.

he leaned back slightly, reaching into his hoodie pocket. when his hand reappeared, it was holding a pistol - his pistol.

“take this,” he held it out to you.

you blinked, staring at the weapon. “what? why?”

“because it’s mine,” he replied simply leaving no room for argument. “and now, it’s ours.”

you hesitated, your hand hovering over the gun. “i.. i barely know how to use this.”

“then i’ll teach you.”

you looked up at him, searching his face for answers. “...why are you giving this to me?”

you noticed the way his eyes darted down as you looked at him, his fingers tightening around the pistol as he pushed it to you. 

“because,” hongjoong began quietly. “i trust you.”

your fingers paused before finally closing around the gun. the cold metal felt deadly in your grasp, but the way his eyes lit up made your heart swell.

“you trust me..?” you asked softly, a faint smile on your face. “hongjoong..”

his usual composure faltered as you said his name, a blush dusting his face. he swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering himself. “you’re not just a part of the group,” he said. “you’re more than that. to me.”

your eyebrows shot up, completely stunned. “...i don’t know what to say.”

“say yes.”

you blinked. “yes to what?”

“to being mine,” hongjoong’s hands fidgeted slightly.

your heart raced as you heard his words. a wide smile spread across your face as you realised what he was really asking.

“are you..” you paused. “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

his breath got caught in his throat as he nodded. “yeah.”

the man that was the literal leader of an entire gang, was sitting nervous infront of you. it was a funny sight to see, but you brought yourself back to reality, answering his question.

“yes.”

a wave of relief washed over his face as he let out the breath he seemed to be holding. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he leaned closer. “wanna sleep in my bed tonight?”

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